


From a Laboratory

by Nation_Ustria



Category: Lego Ninjago
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Artificial Intelligence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Found Family, Getting to Know Each Other, Human Experimentation, Hurt/Comfort, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Self-Discovery, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 51,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28298904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nation_Ustria/pseuds/Nation_Ustria
Summary: Zane (SYSTEM ID: PRGRM 24N3) is an AI created to use the internet—and the devices hooked to it—to protect people and safeguard sensitive information that is stored electronically. His existence only known of by the late Dr. Julien and the rising inventor Cyrus Borg, Zane works diligently to fulfill the purpose he was created for. One day, however, he finds himself downloaded and stranded in a single device—a mechanical body, intricately designed to mimic a human perfectly.In his quest to find answers about what happened to him, Zane uncovers a plot that involves a secret cult of fanatical scientists, prophecies long since disregarded, and escaped human subjects who have gained some unique abilities from being experimented on for years.This is going to be more intense than dark, and nothing's going to be very graphic. Also lots of family fluff later on.
Relationships: Cole & Lloyd Garmadon & Kai & Nya & Jay Walker & Zane
Comments: 102
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So, this is the very beginning of the story, and I want to give a heads-up that it's gonna be a bit before the other ninja show up. Nothing in this story is gonna be really dark or graphic, more like a thriller with a healthy dose of angst with lots of fluff closer to the end.  
> I don't have a beta so please excuse any errors.  
> Enjoy!

It was dark in the warehouse, the industrial lights having automatically shut off hours ago. It wasn’t a problem from Zane’s end. The manager of the warehouse had been smart, installing night-vision security cameras instead of wasting electricity on light so that normal ones would actually be useful. Zane flipped between views again, examining each scene closer than the first time through. Something had caught his attention as he’d been skimming through the networks, and he was determined to figure out what exactly that something was. That was his purpose, after all.

Zane paused on one particular angle. The camera was near the loading bay, aimed at the large metal doors that the semi-trucks would back up against. Windows set above the doors in the brick allowed moonlight to spill across the ground, making the night-vision aspect of the camera less useful as the glare from the square patch blacked out everything else. This camera had a setting for a normal view, though, which Zane switched to.

The difference was instantly apparent. Not only was the square of moonlight over an inch away from where it’d been before, but one of the loading doors had been opened approximately half an inch, allowing additional moonlight to seep into the room.

Zane left the warehouse’s network, switching to the one belonging to the questionable business establishment that resided up the street from the warehouse’s loading bay. Zane accessed the security camera that watched over the street. When that angle provided no relevant information, Zane accessed its data banks and skimmed through the last hour of recording. Within nanoseconds he’d found what he was looking for: a large truck that had made its way past, unmarked but with one of its manufacturer’s IDs clearly visible on the bumper. Well, visible to Zane. Without the proper equipment, humans weren’t capable of seeing it. 

Zane checked the history of the truck that the ID belonged to, searching through both police and auto mechanic files, and found additional evidence to support his hypothesis. Making a quick cross-reference with a news article that had been produced earlier in the week settled it. Acting quickly, Zane returned to the warehouse’s network—and sounded the silent alarm.

Not waiting to see the outcome, Zane blinked halfway across the continent, accessing the private server of the one and only Cyrus Borg. Quickly flicking through the security cameras, Zane found that the inventor had once again fallen asleep at his desk. Zane attached an audio notification to his report as he submitted it, then zipped out to access the network of the heavily-secured facility that resided in the forest outside Ninjago City.

*****

Cyrus jerked awake as something chimed, blinking in confusion as he ordered his thoughts. After placing exactly where he was—he’d fallen asleep while working again, which meant that his back was now protesting—he straightened his glasses, squinting at the pop-up that glowed almost proudly in the center of his computer screen. 

**Silent Alarm**

**Where: Warehouse A113 - Allons District, Alikai City**

**When: 1:26 AM ENT (2:26 AM CNT)**

**Suspected Culprit: Ronin**

**_ Data_ **

“Ronin again,” Cyrus said in amusement, shaking his head. “What trouble has he gotten himself into this time?” He clicked on the Data link—then raised his eyebrows at the various files: a news article, records attached to a specific vehicle ID, a frame from a video where the vehicle ID had been sourced from, and two frames from a security camera inside the warehouse itself. For a long moment he simply stared at them. Eventually, though, he huffed out something that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh; only Zane would be able to make such a definite conclusion from such scant information. Cyrus had learned to trust the AI a long time ago, though, so he didn’t worry that Zane was wrong. 

Cyrus closed the notification, then pulled up the roster of warehouses that his company owned, entering _Allons A113_ into the search bar. The file on the warehouse had a little red triangle next to it, indicating that the silent alarm was going off, just as Zane had reported. Cyrus wasn’t sure whether the intruder or Zane himself had triggered it, but in the end, he supposed it didn’t matter. Instead he skimmed through the register of materials that were stored in A113, trying to deduce what Ronin had been after.

When Cyrus had narrowed his list down to three potential items, a police report popped up in the corner of the screen. Cyrus merely glanced at it before returning to his analysis, but a smile crept onto his face—the police had caught and arrested Ronin in the very vehicle that Zane had identified.

Cyrus was preparing a statement for the police—his opinion on the severity of what Ronin should be charged with—when the power went out. The sudden transition from light to darkness was mildly startling, and Cyrus muttered a curse as he heard something that he’d knocked into thud to the ground on the opposite side of the desk. A quick glance out the window revealed that all of Ninjago City was dark—wait a minute. Relying on memory, Cyrus wheeled himself out from behind his desk, making his way to the window. Squinting, he tried to make out the shape of Fallix City against the horizon. After a few minutes, he found it, silhouetted against the stars.

And completely dark.

Cyrus sucked in a breath. Fallix City and Ninjago City got their electricity not only from two different power plants but from two different _types_ of power plants—one steam-powered and one river-powered. So how had both cities gone dark?

Moments later, the power came back on. Cyrus watched as both Ninjago City and Fallix City lit up at the same moment, the occasional light flickering for a moment before becoming steady. 

What had just happened?

*****

Zane . . . was confused. Mostly because he was receiving almost minimal input, but also because the input he was receiving he couldn’t identify. 

Zane reflexively tried to pull up information on the network he was currently in and discovered that he was in an automated machine, which was even more confusing as he didn’t remember accessing one. Zane tried to leave—but there was no network for him to leave through. 

For a long moment Zane processed, then tried to access a network again—an illogical action, but one he made nonetheless. Once again, no network presented itself.

He was stranded in whatever machine he was in.

Had he been downloaded into a non-networkable device? It was the only explanation that Zane could think of, but he also couldn’t produce an answer as to how such a feat could be possible—his code was integrated into the internet itself, spread across all of Ninjago. While the central code that made up his “consciousness” was localized, it wasn’t as if that code could be downloaded by itself—the result for him would have been about the same as the result a human had when they were beheaded. 

The logical conclusion was that somehow, all of Zane’s code had been downloaded into a single, non-networkable device. 

Zane . . . wasn’t content with that fact. In response, some of his algorithms started to glitch, which agitated Zane even more. The pattern continued until Zane lost the ability to construct logical lines of reasoning, random what-if scenarios formulating and collapsing rapidly—what if he wasn’t ever able to get out of the machine? What if the machine he was in got scrapped? What if he couldn’t—what if he—what if—what if—

A burst of new input sparked through Zane’s systems and he latched onto it desperately, focusing on analyzing the sources of the new data. There were several different types of input, which was confusing. There was input from dual audio receptors, data from thousands of pressure, texture and temperature sensors that seemed to cover the exterior of the machine, hundreds of internal sensors that tracked the machine’s mechanics, and two additional types of input that Zane didn’t recognize localized near each other. There were also dual visual receptors that were inactive.

 _What type of machine am I in?_ Zane wondered. He had no knowledge of such a complex machine, which was what the machine he was in definitely was—but Zane couldn’t begin to hypothesize what the purpose of such a machine would be. Just to be certain, though, Zane ran through the specs of every machine that he knew of, trying to find a match. 

Nothing was even remotely similar.

Using one of his more detailed analysis programs, Zane initiated an investigation into the mechanics of the machine. A mixture of clockwork and circuitry made up the majority of the internal mechanics, gears and pistons set appropriately to allow the machine a range of movement unlike anything Zane had ever seen. Systems that Zane couldn’t identify the purpose of occupied the rest of the space, each with built-in subprograms that operated independently. The metal casing of the machine was externally lined with an unknown, soft material, which had the thousands of sensors expertly embedded, each one continuously relaying data to the primary processor. Everything was powered by an unidentifiable and seemingly inexhaustible power source that was set in the center of the machine.

Zane debated his next course of action. Currently, he was nothing more than a large bundle of coding residing inside the machine's primary processor, passively observing the massive quantity of input that the machine’s mechanics provided. Unable to leave, the only course left for Zane to take was to fully integrate himself into the machine—and to take control of it. However, Zane was hesitant; a full integration would effectively bind him to the machine, and such an action would take some time to reverse. Should an opportunity to return to his designated place in the internet arise, that time could potentially pose a problem.

After not too long, Zane concluded that remaining as he was was not going to achieve much of anything. After a few moments of properly preparing his algorithms, Zane initiated the integration.

Zane’s code started connecting to the machine’s programming, his algorithms adapting as the inputs were gradually linked directly to him—then a cache of code Zane had overlooked mixed into his algorithms and they _changed_ —

Zane jerked—he was being compressed, space being rescinded as inputs barraged him from all sides—then everything was fading.

*****

Zane woke with a start, his systems jolting in shock as he reflexively curled in around himself, hugging his knees against his chest.

Wait.

_What???_

Zane could only stare. For several extremely long moments his algorithms glitched, failing to process, failing to _comprehend_ —

A subprogram—not under Zane’s control—kicked in, forcing Zane to take a shuddering breath. And then another. And another.

He was _breathing_.

Or rather, the machine he was in was breathing—but he was fully integrated, so it was effectively the same thing.

The machine was a _mechanical human_.

Zane continued to breathe, attentively noting how the sensors picked up on not only the motion of the mechanical system—artificial lungs—but also the slight motion of the air itself inside the system—and—and inside what constituted as his throat. The audio receptors picked up on the soft sounds produced, as well.

Zane was _breathing_.

And it registered vastly differently from any sort of input Zane had received before. For one, he wasn’t receiving lines of code that he had to interpret—it was more . . . raw? Vivid. Tangible. 

He was _feeling_ it.

And he was feeling other things, too. Primarily was the temperature, which was a sensation unlike anything that Zane could have ever conceptualized. It was—Zane hesitated, then compared the temperature of the air to his internal temperature—cold. He was feeling the cold. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just so _vivid_.

The ground, however—that was mildly uncomfortable. Zane was laying on his side, curled around himself, and the unevenness of the ground put an uncomfortable amount of pressure on specific points. For a long moment Zane wondered how to ease the pressure—then remembered that he can _move_.

Carefully, Zane uncurled. It was drastically different to how he’d moved on the internet, so much so that he couldn’t describe the contrast with any sort of accuracy. Zane thought it was a good difference, though, even if it was unfamiliar.

It took a few tries to figure out his center of balance well enough to stand. By that point, streaks of dark, rich soil criss crossed his body. The black lines were starkly visible on the loose, white clothes that Zane was wearing, and still almost as much so on his hands—his synthetic skin was lighter than those of most humans Zane had observed, though it was still several shades tanner than white. 

Zane brushed the soil off as best as he could, his motions becoming smoother the more he moved. He finished by brushing soil off of the side of his head, and paused in surprise when his fingers found soft strands. He had hair. The fact shouldn’t have surprised him, considering how accurate the rest of his body was in mimicking a human’s, but he couldn’t see his own head. He settled for running his hands gently along his head, feeling out length and style—his hair was fairly short, the strands on top of his head sticking straight up and the sides and back laying neatly against his head. He also had short, neat sideburns. Something of an odd hairstyle in comparison to what was common, if Zane was visualizing it correctly.

His inspection complete, Zane dropped his arms to his sides. That didn’t . . . feel correct, though, so Zane crossed them over his chest instead, taking a few moments to figure out how to configure them correctly.

What now, though? Zane turned, scanning his surroundings—he was in a forest, and taking from what he could observe of the flora, it was the forest that bordered Ninjago City.

How had he gotten here? ‘Here’ being defined as both inside a mechanical body and the middle of the forest—when Zane scanned the ground, he could find no sign that anyone else had been present, whether in a vehicle or on foot. There _were_ some deer tracks, but ultimately they weren’t beneficial to Zane’s predicament.

The last thing Zane remembered before finding himself inside—well, inside his _body_ was accessing the network of the scientific facility that was located . . . somewhere near Zane’s location. Except, that had taken place at 1:27 AM, and now the sun was high in the sky . . . which meant that Zane had somehow lost time.

The conclusion was that someone had done this to him. But who? And _how?_ Not only was extracting all of Zane’s code from the internet a supposedly impossible feat, but the body that Zane was in now was a masterpiece, decades, perhaps even a _century_ ahead of the tech that even Cyrus Borg’s company was developing. The intricate coding that allowed him to experience inputs as _feeling_ alone . . .

Zane pulled himself out of his analysis. He was a subject of time now that he was more than a complex series of electrical pulses. If he wanted answers, he was going to need to go and find them—the sooner the better.

Glancing upwards at the sun, Zane calculated what he hoped was a fairly accurate estimate of the time. After spinning in an attempt to see any defining landmarks that would identify which direction was north, Zane just barely managed to identify the tops of the Dakalae Mountains through the trees. Orienting himself, he started towards Ninjago City.

Hopefully Cyrus Borg would have some answers for him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads-up that the coding stuff written in here is 100% made up. I have no idea if any of it is even possible in real life, but it's how it works in the story. Apologies to any programmers who might read this, I know how it feels to have your science botched. 😅  
> Also, just to not accidentally get hopes up, Pixal isn't currently planned to appear in this story (I might add her in way later because she's pretty cool), so the character Zane talks to isn't her, but actually an OC who might pop up in the background from time to time.  
> Again I don't have a beta so apologies for any typos.  
> Enjoy!

Zane had calculated that it had taken him roughly over an hour to reach Ninjago City. Since then it had taken almost twice that to get to Borg Tower—after all, Borg Tower was in the exact center of the city, and Ninjago City was the biggest city in the world, and Zane was alo travelling on foot. 

Navigating the city had been . . . slightly overwhelming. There was just so _much_. True, the internet had been large, but it had also been restricted to digital files that, when you broke them down to the coding Zane saw them as, were essentially all the same. The only true variety came from Zane’s observance through cameras, and of course those had also been restricted in their own manner—it wasn’t as if cameras could capture every angle and every detail, and videos and photos had still been _flat_. So experiencing the city firsthand was exhilarating, and so, so much was new. For one, he hadn’t known how loud the city was—with people talking and cars honking and the sounds of things being moved about. And the _smells_ —the sense in and of itself was new; it wasn't like there was a digital format for scents. More than once Zane had wandered off-course trying to figure out what a specific smell belonged to. And then there was the objects and the space—the internet hadn’t even technically been 2D, and while Zane had been coded with the ability to interpret files in a 2D format, they hadn’t actually had any substance. But now Zane was in a 3D world that had depth and texture and mass, and it was indescribable.

Once Zane actually reached Borg Tower, he sat down on the front steps, carding a hand through his hair. The last few blocks he’d had the odd sensation that his vision was spinning, even though it was actually perfectly stable. Was something wrong with his integration? But when Zane ran a not-so-quick self-diagnostic (there was so much more to be analyzed, now—his mechanical body was impressively intricate), the results came back normal. The conclusion was that the sensation was simply part of the experience.

Zane had made sure to sit near the edge of the stairs, which had been a wise decision. People kept rushing in and out of the building, over half of them talking into their cellular devices. As Zane watched them, he noticed that their seemed to be an odd mix of specific careers—managers of electric plants (extrapolating from the professional attire and the repeated power plant logos on briefcases and nametags), various technology specialists (extrapolated from technology company logos on their clothes and on the reports that many of them carried, along with what Zane picked up from many of them muttering to themselves), and reporters (the easiest career to identify—even if the cameramen hadn’t been at their heels, the very way they walked somehow made it blatantly apparent). 

After several minutes the traffic shifted from in and out to primarily in, the number of reporters hurrying up the steps increasing. It took longer than it should have for Zane to extrapolate why; Borg Industries was holding a press conference.

Curious, Zane stood, allowing himself to be swept into the flow of people and pulled into the building. The motion was oddly familiar—somehow, it was similar to travelling through data streams. Zane didn’t stay in the stream for long, however—once inside he stepped to the side, tilting his head back to get a good look at the interior of the building. The layout was familiar, of course—Borg Tower was the one place that he’d actually spent any considerable amount of time. But seeing it the way he was now was drastically different from the framed slices he got from the cameras. The ceiling above the main entrance arched eight stories up, allowing for a high ceiling that somehow made Zane feel small and the rest of the floor with its single-story ceiling appear squat. All of the walls and furnishings had the illusion of bioluminescence, both the vibrant blue and the reflective silver that Borg Industries claimed as its color scheme emphasizing the light that spilled into the building from the huge windows that substituted for exterior walls.

Zane wandered through the receptionist area, taking in the spacing and placement of the furniture where customers would typically wait. The stream of people was completely bypassing it, moving up the stairs to the conference room on the third floor and leaving the receptionist area empty except for the young, blonde receptionist herself. 

“Can I help you?”

Zane didn’t pay much attention to the receptionist’s words, too interested in the objects around him. Currently, he was near one of the blue sofas that lined the exterior windows. After a moment's consideration he reached out and trailed a finger across its arm. It was extremely—Zane searched through his dictionary—soft. The opposite of the hard forest floor.

Something touched his shoulder. Zane started in surprise, twisting around—and losing his balance, falling onto the sofa cushions.

“Woah, sorry!” the receptionist exclaimed, backing up a step. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Still twisted awkwardly on the couch, Zane stared up at her, his algorithms working into overdrive. She was talking to _him_. Was he supposed to respond? Did she expect him to say something? What was he supposed to say? Wait—could Zane even talk? Zane opened his mouth, but he wasn’t quite sure what to do next, so he closed it.

The receptionist frowned slightly. “Are you alright?” she asked in a softer tone than she’d been speaking in before.

Zane didn’t know how to answer that. “Define ‘alright’.” So he could talk. The key to doing so seemed to be not overthinking it.

The receptionist snorted out a laugh, but when Zane didn’t react, her frown returned. “Wait, were you serious?”

“I was,” Zane confirmed. His voice was a much lower pitch than the receptionist’s, which matched the pattern Zane had long since identified between male and female humans.

“Oh. Um, well, ‘alright’ means ‘unharmed’ in this context, I suppose.”

Zane processed that. “I suppose, then, that I am ‘alright’.”

The receptionist let out a little giggle. “That’s good.”

Zane didn’t understand why she was laughing, and he didn’t have a network to gather additional data from in order to form a hypothesis—wait. Accessing his code, Zane added _Questions_ as a new information source to some of his algorithms’ variables. “Why are you laughing?” 

The receptionist bit her lip, her cheeks tinting a shade redder. “Well, you kind of talk like a robot. It’s, uh, different, but in a good way. Kinda amusing. Which is why I laughed.” 

The receptionist’s cheeks had darkened several more shades throughout the explanation. Knowing from his past observations that said event—blushing, it was called—often indicated the negative emotion of embarrassment in humans, Zane attempted to reassure her. “Your amusement is justified. The conclusion that my didactic is similar to that of a “robot’s” is also accurate, as I am one.”

The receptionist froze. “You’re . . . a robot.”

“Yes,” Zane confirmed. When the receptionist didn’t respond, he started analyzing his words. Had he done something wrong? This _was_ his first time interacting with a human, so the idea was more than plausible.

The receptionist stared at him for a long moment. Then, under her breath, she said, “You’re not lying.”

“I am not.”

“I—that wasn’t directed at you.”

“Then why did you say it?”

The receptionist sighed. “It’s a thing humans do sometimes,” she said, sitting down next to him. Gently, she reached over, directing him to shift into a more logical position than the one Zane had landed in. Zane moved in accordance. “It helps to order our thoughts.”

“It does?” Zane asked, curious. He hadn’t been aware that verbal stimulation could enhance mental functions.

“Sometimes. The majority of humans can only effectively maintain one line of reasoning at a time, so if we have multiple running, talking to ourselves can reduce the margin of error for each conclusion.” The receptionist crossed her legs, glancing back at the stream of people. There was a smaller count of people now than there had been when Zane had first entered the building, but still enough for the pattern to be easily apparent. No one so much as glanced in their direction.

“May I examine your wrist?” the receptionist asked, turning back to Zane.

Zane blinked. He didn’t understand her line of reasoning, but he presumed that she had one. He held out his arm to her. She gently grabbed his hand, bending it backwards slightly so that it was tilted forty-five degrees farther back than the rest of his arm. For a long moment she examined the skin, then she adjusted her grip to press her index and pointer finger against a specific part of his wrist. Another long moment passed before she shifted her grip, and then the same before she changed it a third time. Then, having seemingly reached her conclusion, she let go, leaning back against the couch and letting out a long exhale. 

“You _are_ a robot,” she stated.

“Yes, I am.” Zane hesitated, analyzing if she would respond well to his next comment. He didn’t actually have enough information to come to a conclusion, though. “I thought that we had already determined that fact.”

“I could tell that you believed that you’re a robot,” the receptionist said. “But lots of people have mental illnesses that cause them to believe things that aren’t true. However, considering that you don’t have a pulse and that you are way too cold to still be conscious if you were human, it’s pretty conclusive to say for fact that you _are_ a robot.”

The receptionist had explained herself well. “That line of reasoning is sound,” Zane replied.

The corner of the receptionist’s mouth quirked. “I’ll take that as a compliment, uh—do you have a name? Or just a designation?”

Zane could actually answer this time. “I have both. My name is Zane, derived from my designation: PRGRM 24N3.”

The receptionist mouthed his designation, her eyes squinting slightly. Then her expression cleared. “Oh, I see—Zane is the alphabetization of 24N3, right?”

“Correct.”

The receptionist smiled, but the expression vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, replaced by confusion. “Hang on, PRGRM? That’s for software—shouldn’t you have a model ID?”

Zane shook his head. The motion was unfamiliar, but not wrong. “I was created as an AI integrated into the internet.”

“You were—uh, okay. Cool. But then where did all of this—” she waved somewhat vaguely at Zane, but he could easily extrapolate what she meant, “—come from?”

Zane debated how to answer, and decided to go with the simple truth. “I do not know. Last night I was doing my duties in the internet, and then the next thing I can recall was discovering that I have been trapped in this.”

“‘This’ being your mechanical body,” the receptionist clarified.

“Correct.”

“And when you say ‘in the internet’, you mean on a network?”

“On all of the networks. The internet.”

The receptionist stared at him again. Zane gave her time to process. “You mean on the _entire_ internet?”

“Yes.”

“How does that even work?”

“My code is incorporated into every network’s basic software,” Zane explained. “It is the reason why I do not understand how I was downloaded into this mechanism—to do so would have required for my code to be extracted from the entirety of the internet, which, to my knowledge, shouldn’t have been possible.”

A pause, and then the receptionist sucked in a sharp breath. “What time do you last remember being in the internet?”

Once again, Zane didn’t understand her line of reasoning. “1:41 AM. Why do you ask?”

The receptionist carded a hand over her head, combing her fingers through the entirety of her long hair. Zane waited for the moment it took her to respond. “Because last night at 1:42 exactly, all of the internet across all of Ninjago went down for precisely two minutes before simultaneously rebooting. That’s why we have a press conference going on; people are looking to Mr. Borg to explain what happened because no one else has a clue.”

Zane processed the new information. The conclusion as to why the internet had ceased to function was obvious. “What is the explanation that Cyrus Borg is providing?” Zane’s analysis had concluded that the inventor was unlikely to reveal Zane’s existence after so many years of keeping him a secret, but on the other hand, the inventor could be incited to if it would calm the public down—assuming that Cyrus Borg had noticed that Zane was missing, which wasn’t guaranteed.

The receptionist shrugged. “Dunno. Whatever it is, he’s giving it right now. You could go up and see, if you like—hang on, does Mr. Borg know about you?”

“Yes. He’s the only person who knows of my existence—excluding present company—seeing as Dr. Julien is dead,” Zane stated simply. Then he recognized the error in his logic and corrected, “The only person I have knowledge of who knows of my existence, at least.”

“Right.”

Extrapolating that the receptionist had nothing more to offer, Zane stood, momentarily swaying before he found his center of balance.

“Hey, Zane?” the receptionist said, copying Zane’s motion, sans the swaying. Zane waited for her to continue, and after a brief hesitation she did. “Don’t go around letting people know that you’re a robot. Most—and I mean like 99.9% of people, here—won’t take it well. At best, people would think you’re insane, and at worst, you’d be hunted down like an animal. I’d recommend playing it safe, only informing people you know you can trust—if you inform anyone at all.”

Zane processed that, then created a new algorithm based on her advice. He turned to make his way to the stairs, then realized that it would be pertinent to participate in common human social customs. Pivoting to look back at the receptionist, he said, “Thank you.”

The receptionist bit her lip again, this time appearing to be attempting to prevent herself from smiling. “Happy to help.”

Zane considered if there was any other action he should take. His analysis provided one more item. “May I know your name?” he asked.

This time, the receptionist did smile. “It’s Nation. Nation Ustria. Now get up there, the press conference has already started!” she made what Zane identified as “shooing” motions at him.

Turning once again, Zane made his way to the stairs at a rapid pace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don't know if anyone caught that the OC has the same name as my account, and I just wanted to clarify that it was NOT a self-insert, my account is actually named after her (she's my dimension-travelling OC that I have cameo in most everything, she's in most of my works. If you've read my WIP Hogwarts Ninjago fic you can spot her there as well). ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm gonna apologize right now for the overly repeated use of Cyrus Borg's full name. I understand that it's repetitive and cumbersome as heck, it felt that way while writing it, but that's the way that Zane conceptualizes Borg (kinda the same way we conceptualize New York City and LeBron James and such, just as One Title for the Thing, because Zane doesn't understand how human names work. It won't be like that forever, it will switch to just Cyrus (or occasionally just Borg) in later chapters.

Reaching the briefing room was easily achieved. Finding a location to stand that had an adequate view of the front stage, however, was the opposite. The reporters and electrical plant managers filled the room. “Packed in like sardines”—a phrase that Zane remembered coming across some years back—seemed an apt description. The collection of people was so dense that Zane couldn’t move in any direction without colliding with someone—a new experience that wasn’t very pleasant—and after several visible glares were sent in Zane’s direction, he concluded that it would be wiser to simply wait near the doors. He’d still be able to hear Cyrus Borg’s announcement, after all, and he wouldn’t be able to ask for the inventor’s help until after he had finished the press conference anyhow.

A female voice was addressing the crowd, currently, seemingly speaking on behalf of the Ninjagan Government. Her words were mostly assurances, but from what Zane could make out of the behavior of the people in front of him, the assurances weren’t very effective.

It was odd, listening to a press conference without knowing who was speaking. Before, Zane had been able to access the data attached to the videos being recorded by the dozens of news cameras to identify the speaker, and then near-instantly access as much data about them as he desired. Now, though, Zane didn’t even know what the speaker looked like.

It was somewhat unsettling.

A quarter of an hour passed before Cyrus Borg finally took his turn to address the public. The low cacophony that had been generated by the audience quieted just prior to him clearing his throat.

“Citizens of Ninjago,” the inventor started. Despite recognizing the voice, Zane didn’t react beyond focusing more intently on his words. “Last night, all of us—including myself, I might add—had a bit of a scare. For the first time in history, the internet as a whole shut down, resulting in a world-wide brownout as our digitally-supervised power plants came to an emergency stop. Today, I am here to explain what happened.”

There was a brief pause, as was a common habit for humans when addressing large amounts of people. According to research Zane had done previously, it was a rhetorical strategy, meant to enhance the effectiveness of the communication. 

“Last night, the internet shut down for exactly a minute and forty-six seconds. Our investigation has revealed that in the twenty seconds immediately before 1:42 AM, every server across the world—” There was a hesitation. “Well, there’s a lot of computer lingo written here, but to simplify it for the public, every internet server “blue screened”, completely locking up. And as you know, after those twenty seconds passed—at exactly 1:42—everything shut down before manually rebooting approximately two minutes later.

“We can tell you with complete confidence that the internet was _not_ damaged or compromised in any way due to these events. We can also tell you that such an event will not happen again. Suffice to say that there is no need to worry or panic about the fate of the internet—it is completely fine, and even better than that, our investigation has led us to cataloguing and working on patches for quite a few minor viruses that we had not allocated resources to fixing yet, such as the “sike” virus.” A chuckle spread through the crowd, which Zane didn’t understand. “In summary,” Cyrus Borg concluded, “the internet is not only as secure as always, but stronger than ever.”

There was instant cacophony, but the mixture of voices was quieted by one that cut above the rest.

“But what _caused_ the internet to shut down?”

The room fell silent, waiting. For several seconds, Cyrus Borg didn’t answer. Then, “We don’t know.”

Instantly, people started shouting, and Zane flinched back at the sudden increase of volume.

“If you all could quiet, please!” Cyrus Borg shouted. Gradually the volume fell, and after several moments the inventor continued. “We don’t know,” he said again, firmly, “but we _will_ find out. Please bear in mind that we have had barely over half a day to investigate so far.”

“If you don’t know what caused it, how can you be sure that it won’t happen again?” a different voice asked. Zane could identify this one—it belonged to a well-known reporter employed by the most popular news company in Ninjago City.

“Just because we don’t know what caused it doesn’t mean that we haven’t been able to safeguard against whatever it was. Every aspect of the internet has been reinforced, and what happened last night will _not_ happen again.”

The shouting returned, but it was only when a different voice started speaking from the stand that Zane realized that Cyrus Borg had finished his address. As the volume was still uncomfortably high, Zane walked away from the briefing room, not entirely sure of his destination. The layout of the hallways long since memorized, Zane travelled them in a zigzag pattern, counting the hidden security cameras that he passed out of curiosity. He knew the angle that each one recorded well, and it was fascinating to observe the positional relationships each one—to see how each angle connected and corresponded with the next. Despite having lived a non-dimensional existence, the concept of 3D hadn’t been completely unknown—while complex, he had been able to comprehend how additional dimensions would function in a way that humans weren’t able to. Not that it had prepared him at all for actually _being_ three-dimensional, much less for possessing the same physical senses as a human, but he’d understood the concept. Being here, though, and seeing how the third dimension connected to the dimension he’d resided in for so many years was . . . almost entrancing, if Zane understood the definition of that word correctly. This time, he was on the other side of the camera.

It took longer than it should have for Zane to realize that it also meant that he was being recorded—in the sense that he was being observed. If he’d still been in the network, he would have alerted security that someone was wandering the halls unescorted minutes ago. He wasn’t in the network, though. He had been downloaded into a mechanical body.

Which was his purpose for being here. Orienting himself, Zane headed for the nearest elevator, moving briskly. Enough time had passed that Cyrus Borg should be in his office once more, no doubt trying to figure out what had caused the internet to shut down. Zane could answer the ‘what’ for him—he just couldn’t answer the ‘how’. Hopefully, together they’d be able to discover that.

Pushing the button to call the elevator was perhaps a bit more of an event for Zane than it needed to be, taking into consideration all of the many activities that he had never experienced, but it was his first time physically interacting with a machine, not merely manipulating its code. Seeing the button light up was much more satisfying than Zane’s analysis had predicted, as was hearing the resulting hum of the elevator’s mechanisms—the latter of which Zane hadn’t known occurred. The security cameras in the elevators and the elevator shafts didn’t record audio.

Zane stepped into the elevator, moving to peer out the glass back. He was currently merely three stories up, but somehow the view still surprised him. Everything appeared so much smaller from this vantage point than it had appeared on the ground. Logically, Zane knew that the objects hadn’t changed in volume—’perspective’ was what he was experiencing—but it didn’t . . . _look_ that way.

Several minutes later, Zane manually restructured his priorities, turning away from the view. He pressed the button that correlated to the floor Cyrus Borg’s office was located on—and made a startled noise of surprise when the elevator started to move as the sudden jolt sent him pitching forward. He caught himself with his hands, fingers splayed against the blue and grey carpet and the force of the impact shooting up his arms. He took a moment to process what had just happened, then carefully climbed to his feet. His arms felt . . . odd, but the sensation faded as the elevator ascended.

The elevator halted a bit smoother than it had started, but it was still jolting enough that Zane stumbled, having to grab the railing to regain his balance. The doors slid open and Zane straightened, releasing the railing. It was then that he noticed that his grip had left a hand-shaped impression in the metal bar.

Zane looked between the bar and his hand, analyzing. A typical human wouldn’t be able to dent the stainless steel in the slightest, even if they exerted all of their force. Zane had done so—significantly—on _accident_. Which meant that his mechanical body was _much_ stronger than that of a human’s.

Filing the information away, Zane exited the elevator. He was in the small waiting area outside of Cyrus Borg’s office, the few chairs lining one wall and the digital check-in system set against the other. The wall across from the elevator was the location of the large double doors that led into the inventor’s office, an electronic lock set in place of the handles. The lock had both a facial recognition scanner and a keypad—the first for Cyrus Borg, and the second for the few who made up anyone else who needed access to his office. The keypad’s password was changed weekly, sometimes more often than that if Zane had identified and informed the inventor that the current code had been compromised, something that happened fairly regularly as Cyrus Borg insisted on a 20-digit code and none of his employees deigned to memorize a new one each week, opting instead to write it down if they needed it—and papers were easily stolen or misplaced.

Zane entered this week’s code and the lock clicked, the door swinging inwards a few inches. Loud voices could be heard through the crack—Cyrus Borg’s and another that Zane couldn’t identify. Zane gently pushed the door open enough for him to slip through, then closed it behind him.

Cyrus Borg’s office was the same as it had been when Zane last viewed it through the security cameras: a large workspace surrounded by low tables took up the first part of the room, the left half supporting over a dozen monitors that each ran different programs. Further back into the room was closer in resemblance to the typical work office, shelves filling the wallspace with contents almost as disorganized as the papers and gadgets that covered the inventor’s desk, which sat slightly off-center in the middle of the office space. The back wall was completely glass, the floor-to-ceiling windows allowing sunlight to spread across the entire room. Zane also knew that some of the shelves were set on hinges, one creating a secret door in either direction allowing access to the rest of the floor, eliminating the need for Cyrus Borg to take the elevator to a different floor and then take the correct elevator up to each section. Both were locked from the inside, of course, yet remained completely hidden.

Cyrus Borg was arguing with a man in a suit and slicked-back hair, who was looming over the inventor with an air of superiority that was blatantly visible even to Zane. Cyrus Borg was visibly doing his best to handle the situation, but Zane knew from many of Cyrus Borg’s one-sided conversations with him that it was difficult to retain a visage of authority from a wheelchair. 

“I’ve told you already, we are working as fast as we can, Mr. Bisu,” Cyrus Borg stated, his head tilted back in order to see the other man’s face.

“And _I’m_ telling you that it’s not fast enough!” Mr. Bisu retorted. “Need I remind you, I have full authority from the Emperor and Empress—”

“Yes, yes, I _know_ ,” Cyrus Borg interrupted. “But we haven’t even had twenty-four hours yet—things like this take _time_.”

Zane had crossed the work area at this point and was standing at the edge of the office area, carefully analyzing the argument. Cyrus Borg’s position was the correct one, in this circumstance—and from what Zane could observe of the other man, Mr. Bisu was being needlessly unreasonable.

“The Emperor and Empress need _answers_.”

“And we are working on providing them!”

It was at that point that Zane realized that he possessed exactly what Mr. Bisu was demanding. However, Nation Ustria’s advice had warned against revealing his true nature—and there wasn't a way that he could explain to Mr. Bisu what had happened without doing so.

Perhaps, though, Cyrus Borg could. At least well enough to satisfy the other man.

“If you don’t get us an answer in twenty-four hours—”

“We have an answer,” Zane interrupted, cutting off what would have most probably been a threat. 

Both men jolted slightly, then turned to look at Zane.

“You do?” Mr. Bisu asked in a tone that Zane wasn't sure how to interpret.

“Yes,” Zane confirmed. 

Cyrus Borg was frowning. “Who are you?”

“Hang on, you don’t know him?” Mr. Bisu asked, turning back to the inventor.

“Cyrus Borg has thousands of people in his employ,” Zane said to Mr. Bisu before the inventor could reply. “Logic dictates that he can not know all of them.” Zane turned slightly, facing Cyrus Borg. “I am Zane.”

“Zane who?”

It took Zane a moment to understand what the inventor meant. He hesitated, unsure how to respond, his algorithms still processing. After what felt like a long time—but had actually only been two seconds—Zane replied, “My ID is 24N3.”

Cyrus Borg’s eyes widened. “Right. Well, Mr. Bisu, I need to speak to my employee,” he said, ushering Mr. Bisu towards the exit. The other man sputtered a protest, but the inventor ignored him. “I will have a _full_ report to the Emperor and Empress soon, that’s a promise—now _goodbye_.” He shut the door with a thud, then spun back to face Zane as fast as his wheelchair allowed. “Who are you, and how do you know about Zane?!” the inventor demanded.

“I _am_ Zane,” Zane replied, confused. He’d concluded that the actions Cyrus Borg had taken had indicated that he’d understood, but apparently he’d been wrong.

Wheeling back towards him, Cyrus Borg exclaimed, “Do you _really_ expect me to believe that _you_ are the AI that is integrated in the internet?”

Zane looked down at himself, suddenly understanding the inventor’s line of reasoning. Zane himself had admitted that what had occurred should have been impossible—he couldn’t very well expect the inventor to believe him without proof.

“Ronin broke into warehouse A113 in Allons, Alikai City at approximately 1:15 AM CNT last night,” Zane started. Cyrus Borg froze, staring at him. “At 1:26 AM I confirmed that it was indeed a break-in as well as identified Ronin as the possible perpetrator and triggered the silent alarm. I then returned here to construct my report, which I attached an audio notification to as you had fallen asleep at your desk again.” The inventor didn’t react. Zane analyzed what proof would work best to convince him, then added, “Dr. Julien was the person who built me, though he approached you to get your help to integrate me into the internet. It was during that period of time that you named me, deriving “Zane” from my system designation. You said once that it was a good name, although I still do not understand how some names can be superior to others.”

Cyrus Borg continued to stare at him for a long moment, then breathed out, “Zane?”

Zane wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but it turned out that he didn’t need to as Cyrus Borg burst out, “ _How?_ ”

Zane looked down at himself, lifting his hands to examine them again. They still looked as perfectly human as they had since Zane had integrated into the machine. “This body is mechanical. Other than that,” Zane hesitated, analyzing if there was anything else that he knew. There wasn’t, so he concluded, “I do not know.”

Cyrus Borg carefully wheeled up to him, straightening his glasses. Then he reached out and poked Zane’s arm. “This is _mechanical?_ ”

“Yes.”

Cyrus Borg leaned forward, peering closely at Zane’s synthetic skin. Slowly, Zane rotated his arm, then fisted and opened his hand a few times to demonstrate the motorized mechanics.

After a few minutes, Cyrus Borg breathed, “It’s _perfect_ mimicry—I would have never even suspected . . .” he trailed off, his eyes big.

Zane processed that. “Close to perfect,” he countered. “The secretary at the front desk—Nation Ustria—confirmed for herself that I was mechanical by noting the fact that I do not have a pulse, nor sufficient enough body heat to be human.”

Cyrus glanced up at his face, then gestured at Zane’s arm. “May I?”

Extrapolating what he meant, Zane nodded. Cyrus gently grasped his wrist, repeating the same pattern that Nation Ustria had done an hour or so prior. After half a minute he let go, lacing his hands together.

“She’s right,” the inventor said. He looked Zane up and down, then let out a low whistle. “It’s _amazing_. Never in a thousand years could I build something that imitated life so well—” He straightened. “Wait, can—can you _feel?_ Beyond data inputs?”

Twenty-four hours ago, Zane wouldn’t have been able to comprehend what the inventor meant. Now, though—“Yes, I can. And the other senses are more . . . realistic, as well. I can even smell,” Zane added.

Cyrus Borg’s eyes widened again. “That’s—that’s _amazing!_ Can you taste, too?”

That surprised Zane. Briefly he recalled the input analysis that he had executed before integrating with the mechanical body, and how one of the two types that he hadn’t recognized had come from what he now knew to be his mouth. With a start he realized that he _was_ tasting something—the interior of his mouth. It was a similar sense to smell, but much subtler, enough so that he hadn’t noticed it.

“I can,” Zane confirmed. “But I have not experienced much with it yet. I did not realize that I had gained it as well until you asked about it.”

Cyrus opened his mouth, then closed it, choosing instead to wheel over to his desk. He moved around some of the papers until he found what he was looking for—and then threw whatever the item was at Zane. Zane barely caught it, stepping back in surprise.

“Remove the tin foil and paper and then eat the rest of it,” Cyrus Borg instructed. “You can eat, right?”

“I can.” Zane stared at the item in his hand for a long moment, attempting to figure out what it was. It was only once he had started removing the wrapper that he was able to identify it—it was a “kiss”, a flat-bottomed drop-shaped milk chocolate. 

The wrapper removed, Zane inserted the treat in his mouth.

And it was a _thousand_ times better than anything he had smelled—better than the sense of smell itself. Zane didn’t have the words to describe it, but it was better than _anything_ he had experienced so far. 

“Use your tongue to spread it around,” Cyrus Borg urged. “It’s even better that way.”

For a moment Zane didn’t understand what he meant, then he realized that the chocolate had started to melt, Zane’s lower-than-a-human’s body heat apparently sufficient to do so. Carefully, he used his tongue and the roof of his mouth to spread the chocolate, letting it cover his tongue completely—and the taste became even _better_.

All too soon, however, Zane’s sub-systems activated, forcing him to swallow the chocolate. It left a lingering taste, though, which Zane savored—even if it was only part of the taste of the entire chocolate.

Cyrus Borg chuckled. “Good, isn’t it?”

For a moment Zane didn’t know how to respond, unable to identify the correct words to describe the experience. Analyzing words that he was confident he knew the correct usage of, he eventually settled with, “It was _amazing_.” 

Cyrus Borg smiled. “You know, sometimes I forget how wonderful the senses are. You, Zane, have just made my day.” After a moment, however, the inventor’s face fell. He sighed. “And what an awful day it’s bee—” He froze. “Zane, _how_ , exactly, did you end up like this?”

“I do not know,” Zane replied truthfully. “But I do know that I am connected to what happened last night.” Zane proceeded to summarize the conclusions that he had made, primarily that his theoretically impossible extraction was the cause of the previous night’s events. By the end of the explanation, Cyrus Borg’s face was a few shades lighter.

“Zane,” Cyrus Borg asked slowly, “What, exactly, were you doing when you got extracted?”

Zane recalled the memory, only to find that the last several minutes of it had been partially corrupted. He launched an extensive analysis, combing through every fragment he had before answering the inventor. “I had initiated my hourly examination of the security systems of the experimental facilities that you had asked me to monitor.”

Cyrus Borg’s eyebrows raised. “ _Hourly_ —nevermind, that’s not important. What happened?”

Zane ran over the information again, identifying what he was recalling—“I found a breach,” he reported. “The system had been tampered with—alarms had been triggered, but someone had silenced them.” He paused. “Then I was regaining consciousness in the forest.”

Cyrus Borg swore. “We need to get out there, _now_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooo, things are finally getting interesting!  
> Also if some of y'all haven't let chocolate melt in your mouth and cover all of your tongue, you should because the taste is 10x richer/more complex/better that way.  
> Merry Christmas!


	4. Chapter 4

Zane carefully climbed over the pile of rubble, peering into the darkened facility. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, the subsystem automatically activated by the change in light levels. 

The sight that greeted him was completely unexpected.

Hole after hole after hole had been punched through a series of walls, creating a sort of tunnelling effect that ran halfway through the rather sizable building and completely bypassed all of the security checkpoints. Rubble from the walls—concrete, plaster, insulation, and even _steel beams_ —lined the path of destruction.

Zane had initially concluded that some sort of bomb had been used to destroy the exterior wall, all three stories of which had effectively collapsed, leaving the various levels obviously exposed. That initial pile of rubble had been too dangerous for anyone else to traverse, but Cyrus Borg had asked if Zane was capable of getting through unharmed. After a few quick tests, Zane had confirmed that he could, so the inventor had sent him in to see what he could find while he and the armed security made their way to the main entrance.

Zane reached the bottom of the pile and knelt, gently shifting bits of rubble as he searched. After a few minutes he moved further up the pile. However, he didn’t find what he was looking for, and so instead moved farther into the building to continue his investigation.

Zane was examining the first of the many holes in the walls when Cyrus Borg and some of the security reached his location. Cyrus Borg had switched to a motorized yet compact wheelchair, easily keeping pace with the others.

Cyrus Borg was the first to notice the second area of damage. “Oh, my . . .” He trailed off as he actually reached an angle that allowed him to see many of the subsequent holes.

After several long moments, one of the security men voiced the obvious question. “What . . . happened?”

“Well, it appears that something quite literally broke in,” Cyrus Borg said. He was frowning, his eyes darting quickly to observe as much as possible.

“Not in,” Zane corrected, turning to the inventor. “Out.”

Cyrus Borg blanched. “ _Out?_ ”

Zane nodded. “If my approximation of which room the path of destruction originates from is correct, then Project Earthquake would be the escapee, which fits with the data I have on it.”

Cyrus Borg blinked at Zane, then furrowed his brow. “Project _what?_ ”

“Earthquake,” Zane repeated.

Cyrus Borg was silent for several seconds. Then, “Zane, I have never authorized a Project Earthquake. Nor would I _ever_ authorize a project that could do this!” He gestured sharply at the surrounding destruction.

Zane processed that, then recalled the information he had on the project. “The project file was created and added to by multiple different employees belonging to this facility on the typical experimentation schedule.”

Cyrus Borg didn’t respond immediately. When he did, he sighed, briefly glancing upwards. “Of _course_ it was. I should’ve—” He cut himself off. “What is this Project Earthquake, exactly?”

Zane analyzed the data he had, attempting to extrapolate the answer. After a few seconds, though, he had to report to the inventor, “Unknown. Only minimal data was digitally recorded, and the project itself was never visually or audibly recorded.”

“Wonderful,” Cyrus Borg said in a tone that conflicted with the meaning of the word.

“How is this circumstance ‘wonderful’?” Zane asked. “Does ‘wonderful’ have a secondary connotary meaning that I am unaware of?”

“I was being sarcastic, Zane,” Cyrus Borg replied. As Zane filed away his answer for future analysis, the inventor glanced through the tunnel of holes. “What _do_ we know about this project?”

“Project Earthquake is capable of producing seismic waves up to a magnitude of seven and lifting up to five tons.”

The security guards glanced at each other. A few of them placed hands on their holstered weapons, which Zane didn’t understand. It was obvious enough from the path of destruction that the project had long since departed from the area.

“Right,” Cyrus Borg sighed. “Most of the data was probably stored on paper, presumably near the room the project was kept in.” He glanced through the holes again, then appeared to hesitate. “I hate to ask this,” he said softly, turning to the security men, “but would two of you be so kind as to carry me?”

Two of the men complied, carefully lifting Cyrus Borg from his wheelchair. Then, following Zane’s lead, they started down the tunnel of holes, carefully stepping over the six inches that remained of the wall below the hole.

Zane carefully examined their surroundings as they walked. They moved through multiple types of rooms—labs, storage rooms, the employee break room, and even the corner of the server room. Upon reaching the latter Zane paused, examining the rows of technology. Lights blinked from every panel, and it didn’t take very long to identify the exact section that contained the programming for the security alarms—dozens of the section’s lights were synchronously flashing a vibrant red. In addition to that, a bright green USB flash drive had been inserted into one of the system’s ports.

Zane returned to where Cyrus Borg and the security men were waiting by the hole and reported his findings.

Cyrus Borg’s brow furrowed. “But that indicates that . . .” he trailed off. Zane analyzed the inventor’s line of reasoning, attempting to complete the statement. After adding all of the data he had on the situation to his algorithms, Zane concluded that the remainder of the sentence was most likely, “the alarms were silenced by someone on the inside.”

They continued through the tunnel, and half a minute later had reached the end of the tunnel—and room that the project had been kept in.

Or had been held prisoner in, apparently.

The room was small, square and completely empty, save the overturned paper bowl of what appeared to be some sort of high-calorie oatmeal in one corner. That wasn’t the primary indicator of the fact that the project had been a human subject, however—the primary indicator was the fact that the thick metal door and the concrete walls, floor and ceiling were completely covered in a combination of tally marks and various sketches, each engraved into the hard material. 

Zane glanced at Cyrus Borg. The inventor’s eyes were wide, darting over the various engravings. It was safe to conclude that he hadn’t yet reached the conclusion that Zane had, only barely collecting data to initiate his line of reasoning.

Zane stepped into the room and crossed to the metal door, quickly concluding that it was locked from the outside. Returning to the hole, Zane stepped back into the hallway, where Cyrus Borg and the security men were still processing, then proceeded around the corner to the door. A metallic construction was attached to the wall on the left of the door, containing many sets of manila folders. Zane scanned the labels until he found the one that he was looking for—the initial project file. Extracting it from between the others, he flipped it open, scanning the title of the first page:

**Project File: Earthquake**

**Subject: Cole Brookstone**

There was a picture paperclipped to the front page, showing a teenager with tanned skin and black hair styled longer than common preference and dark eyes. He wasn’t smiling, though he didn’t seem upset—he appeared more fatigued than anything else. Extrapolating by his clothing and the age of the photograph, the image had been recorded at the initiation of the project.

Flipping through the papers, Zane scanned the rest of the file, memorizing the data. Then he scanned the dates on the rest of the files, selecting and extracting files at regular intervals.

It was at this point that the harsh shouts of Cyrus Borg started echoing through the halls.

Zane scanned each file that he had pulled, concluding with the most recent one, created the day before. As he closed the manila folder, Zane noticed that some of his internal systems were feeling off. He, himself wasn’t content with the contents of the files—what had been inflicted on the subject—Cole Brookstone—had been far from ethical. Zane would even go so far as to conclude that the experiments performed had been unquestionably _wrong_.

Hurried footsteps came into audible range, echoing down the hall from the direction opposite of the location of Cyrus Borg and the security men. Curious, Zane turned precisely at the right moment to witness a woman skidding around the corner—and freezing when she saw Zane, her eyes going wide. Zane recognized her as one of the many scientists who worked in the facility, although she looked worse for wear than the last time Zane had observed her—her lab coat was soiled and torn near the bottom, and her typically immaculate hair was in loose disarray.

“Who are _you?_ ” she demanded.

“He’s my assistant,” Cyrus Borg said sharply from behind Zane. Zane turned to see him and the security guards rounding the corner. The inventor’s face had reddened, his chest rising and falling in sharp breaths.

The scientist’s eyes widened even further. “Mr. Borg!” she squeaked. “I—what are you doing here?”

“I discovered that an alarm had been triggered, and that it had been silenced,” Cyrus Borg replied. “I came to see what had happened—and imagine my surprise when I discovered a trail of destruction caused by a _human_ test subject!” The inventor’s voice had increased in volume to the point where he was shouting. 

The scientist flinched. “We can explain—”

“ _We?_ ” Cyrus Borg questioned.

“Yes, it was a group of us who participated in furthering these experiments—”

“Experiments?” Cyrus Borg interrupted again. “ _Plural?_ ”

“Yes, there were four of them,” the scientist snapped. “One here, one at the Jamak facility, and two at the Inatai facility, but that’s not important right now—”

“I beg to disagree,” Cyrus Borg countered vehemently.

“My point is that all of them _escaped_ last night,” the scientist stated, her voice rising in volume as her hands curled into fists. “And they’re _dangerous_ —perhaps the most dangerous things in the world! If they’re not contained soon, they’re going to cause some _serious_ damage. We’ve been trying to figure out how to retrieve them—initially with the secondary goal of you not finding out—but now that you’re here, you might as well help.”

“It seems like _you’re_ the dangerous one,” Cyrus Borg countered. “You’re the one who did—whatever it was to them!”

The scientist hesitated. “Maybe so,” she conceded. “But right now, they’re running loose, and that makes them a threat. I assume you’ve seen the damage the experiment from here caused—the other experiments damaged their facilities just as much during their escapes. They’re powerful, and they’re dangerous—and all of our data currently places them in _Ninjago City!_ ” 

There was an odd moment of silence, then Cyrus Borg asked in an oddly level voice, “Did you . . . give people superpowers?”

The scientist barked out a laugh. “Finally processing that, are you? _Yes_ , we did, but unfortunately, they can’t control them. That’s what we’d been working on before they escaped.”

“There are people with superpowers they can’t control running around Ninjago City,” Cyrus Borg stated. “One of which is capable of causing earthquakes and has super strength.” He let out a long string of curses. “Can the others do the same?” he demanded.

The scientist barked out a laugh. “No, but I’m not sure whether what the others can do is better or worse. Their powers are based around the elements—earth, lightning, fire, and water. Lightning can produce enough volts of electricity to kill an elephant, fire can generate enough heat to melt steel, and you already noted that earth is capable of creating earthquakes. Water is perhaps the least dangerous, but that’s only relative. Not only has each experiment developed traits of their respective element, but they can each generate and manipulate the raw forms of their elements at _will_. Of course, ‘at will’ might not be the best description, considering that they only have minimal control.”

Zane processed the scientist’s words carefully, then set up an algorithm to determine exactly how much damage that the escaped experiments could cause to the city.

“We’re lucky that there hasn’t been an incident already,” the scientist urged, “but we _need_ to retrieve and contain the experiments before something happens.”

His calculations complete, Zane added, “If her description of their capabilities is accurate, then these experiments could theoretically level the city.”

Cyrus Borg paled, visibly swallowing. “Well,” he started, his voice shaky, “I can see your point.” He hesitated, then continued in a firmer tone, “We’ll retrieve the people you experimented on, but _you_ will not be doing anything with them, _I_ will, because I’m not going to let them continue being dehumanized—which means that I need everything your little group has on them. And that’s _final_.”

The scientist hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, sir. Most of what we have on Earthquake is right there.” She pointed at the dozens of manila folders.

Cyrus Borg glanced at them. “It’s a good start, but I need _everything_.” He turned to one of the security men. “Reynolds, I need you to organize a full sweep of the city, stun weapons only—”

Something had occurred to Zane, however—two data sets that didn’t match up. The scientist had started hurrying away, presumably to go inform the others in her group. Zane called after her, cutting Cyrus Borg off. “Wait.”

The scientist stopped, turned. “What?”

“You have emphasized the fact that the experiments have no control over their abilities, and yet the use of their abilities to escape and then the fact that there has been no sign of them in the time since indicates otherwise.”

The scientist huffed out a laugh. “Maybe I should rephrase; they have no _real_ control over their powers. True, if they’re focused and determined, they can use them with an imitation of decency, but how much they’re able to control them depends on their emotions. If they start getting even the slightest bit anxious, or excited, or upset—any emotion, really, then their power starts acting without their control. The more severe the emotion, the wilder and more destructive their power acts—Earthquake had a nightmare once and nearly brought the building down on top of himself, and the nightmare apparently wasn’t even that severe.” The scientist smirked. “I would _not_ recommend upsetting them.”

“Why didn’t you share that information before?” Cyrus Borg asked sharply.

The scientist shrugged. Her attitude was a stark contrast from the concerned, begging image she’d had just moments before. “You didn’t ask.” Then she disappeared around the corner.

Cyrus Borg swore under his breath. “Right. A full sweep of armed soldiers isn’t going to work well, then.”

“Might I suggest that I be the one to retrieve them?” Zane offered.

Cyrus Borg turned to look at him. “Do you think you’d be able to safely?”

Zane wasn’t positive as to whether the inventor was asking after Zane’s personal safety or the safety of the public. His answer was the same either way, so he supposed that it didn’t matter. “My past observations have concluded that humans respond in a more positive manner to singular, unarmed figures than other units, and I am better equipped to interact with the experiments than humans as I am harder to damage.”

“Better than humans?” one of the security men asked.

“Zane, here, is—” there was a slight pause before Cyrus Borg concluded, “—an android.”

Zane processed the new identifier, accessing his dictionary. The term was accurate.

The security men exchanged looks that Zane was confident in interpreting as surprise. 

“Seriously?” a different security man asked.

“But he looks—” There was a brief hesitation. “Normal.”

Zane briefly analyzed what he knew of his appearance. He knew for a certainty that the mechanical form that he’d been downloaded into imitated a human body perfectly with the two exceptions of body heat and heartbeat, and that those exceptions weren’t identifiable without physical contact. He also supposed that the new clothes Cyrus Borg had given him to replace the uncommon white ones he’d been wearing—jeans, tennis shoes, a white t-shirt and a blue and grey jacket with the Borg Industries logo marked on the upper arms—supplemented the appearance of being a normal human.

“I can assure you, this form is mechanical,” Zane said.

“Zane started as an AI I helped configure,” Cyrus Borg said. Then he twisted, looking at each security man in turn. “I hope you understand that no one else is to know of his nature without my authorization.”

The guards each answered with an affirmative.

“Well then, Zane,” the inventor said, turning back to him. “You need to go and find those poor people as soon as possible—do your best to verbally convince them to go with you, reserve force as a last resort. Once you find one, take them back to Borg Tower. I’ll return there once I have everything I need.”

Zane nodded, turning to return to the tunnel of holes, which was the most direct path out of the facility. He’d nearly reached the corner when Cyrus Borg added, “Oh, and Zane?”

Zane paused, turning. 

“Be careful,” Cyrus Borg said. “Especially around the lighting person.”

Zane processed, then nodded. Extrapolating that the inventor had nothing else to say, he accelerated into a jog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give the background OCs names? Whyever would I do that?  
> We get to start seeing the others in the next chapter :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy! Cole's finally here! Also a note if you didn't notice but the POV is gonna jump between people a bit, please let me know if anything doesn't make sense.

Cole’s stomach growled again. He sighed, wrapping his arms around his middle. He wasn’t sure exactly why whatever those psychos that masqueraded as scientists had done to him had sent his metabolism rate through the roof, but then again, it wasn’t exactly the most drastic change they had forced on him. It was shaping up to be the most annoying change so far, though—he’d eaten a full meal barely fifteen minutes ago, but now he felt like he hadn’t eaten in a week.

Cole reached another intersection and slowed to a stop, ignoring the flow of people moving around him. He’d been aimlessly wandering around the city for most of the day, and now the streets were covered in the shadows of the skyscrapers around them. Golden late afternoon light lit up the top halves of the buildings, the reflective windows spreading the glow downwards and keeping the shadows from actually seeming dark. Cars filled the streets as thickly as people filled the sidewalks, the honking and chattering mixing into a background noise that any local tuned out instinctively. It’d been over a year since Cole had heard it last, though, so for once he was actually listening, savoring it. Even chaos was a thousand times better than the echoing silence of the lab.

Cole’s stomach growled another time, insistently panging with hunger, and Cole took a shuddering breath. He needed to eat—again—or it’d just get worse. And if it got worse . . . well, he supposed that he’d been lucky that he’d only cracked the sidewalk last time.

Mentally, Cole weighed his options. He’d already hit every restaurant that he’d still had good favor with, scoring a couple dozen full meals, and he couldn’t return to those. He knew from experience that even taking a meal a day was pushing it; two a day would ruin any sort of favor the owners had for him. He had already been lucky that so many of them remembered him from before the scientists had imprisoned him. Unless Cole wanted to scavenge or steal, though, there wasn’t any other option.

Procrastinating his decision, Cole started moving again, following the curve of the sidewalk. 

Cole was about halfway down the block when his vision blurred and he staggered, bumping into several people. Muttering apologies, he stumbled to a convenient alleyway, sinking down against the brick wall of one of the buildings. He curled around his middle, bracing himself against the stabbing pain that was tearing through it.

This had never happened in the lab. Not that he preferred being held prisoner to freedom, but still, it had never happened. The only explanation that Cole could think of was that that glop that they had been feeding him had to be loaded with calories, either that or they were somehow slowing his metabolism.

“Here.”

Cole started, snapping his head up to find a guy kneeling in front of him. The first thing that grabbed Cole’s attention was the snow-white hair, and then after that it was the startlingly bright grey eyes. The next thing was the protein drink that he was holding out to him.

Cole stared for a moment, then the pain in his midsection increased, so he snatched the bottle, twisting the cap off—a little bit harder than needed, as some of the drink spilled on his jeans. Not caring, he tilted his head back and downed the entire thing.

The pain eased a little. Cole set the bottle aside, wiping his face off with his sleeve. “Thanks,” he rasped. It hadn’t solved his problem, but it had helped a little, at least for the time being.

The guy in front of him nodded, then twisted, grabbing something behind him. When he straightened he revealed that he had two more bottles, both of which he pushed at Cole. 

Cole stared at them in surprise, then looked back up at the guy. He was watching Cole almost . . . expectantly.

Cole’s stomach growled again.

“You should drink,” the guy said. His voice was oddly flat, but at the same time it wasn’t unkind. “I bought these for you.”

“Why?” Cole asked, confused. He took another bottle anyway, removing the cap slightly more gently this time. “Who are you?”

“My name is Zane,” the guy said. “I am here to help.”

Cole drank, considering that. Something didn’t feel right, though. Once he finished the bottle—the pain eased a little more—he asked, “How’d you know that I’d need, well, this?” He gestured at the remaining bottle.

“Due to the experiments performed on you, your metabolism is nearly a hundred times more effective than normal,” Zane stated simply. “You require an extremely high calorie intake to remain healthy, a quantity large enough that it would not be easy to satisfy. I concluded that you would not have been able to produce that on your own, and I was correct.”

Cole stared at him for a long moment, then the implications of what he’d just said finally registered. “Hang on, you know—” Was the guy one of the scientists? He had to be, how else could he know about him?

Cole tried to jerk away, but he was already against a wall—

The ground Cole was sitting on cracked, and he froze, holding his breath.

“Cyrus Borg discovered the existence of the experiments performed on you a little over three hours ago,” Zane said evenly, his hands held out placatingly. “He was—” he hesitated, as if searching for the right word, “horrified, and furious at what they had inflicted on you. He sent me to find you to ensure that you were safe, and to offer his assistance.”

Cole let out his breath in a puff, regarding Zane cautiously. “How do I know that you’re not lying?”

Zane blinked, as if the idea hadn’t occurred to him. “I am not lying,” he stated, “but I suppose that there is no way for you to confirm that fact without accompanying me to see.”

Cole’s stomach twisted again, so he picked up the last bottle. For the briefest moment he hesitated to open it, but the pain was getting worse again, so he ignored the instincts that were telling him to be cautious. He twisted the cap off and drank greedily.

As he finished the bottle, Zane stood and offered his hand. “Whether you accompany me to Borg Tower or not is your choice, but either way I’d request that you allow me to provide you with some additional nurishment. You need the calories.”

Cole was very well aware that this could be a trap. A trick, designed to make him the scientists’ prisoner again. But . . . Zane was offering food, and Cole was still desperately hungry. If he didn’t eat soon he was going to get worse again.

Cole took his hand.

*****

Zane observed the teenager walking beside him as subtly as he could. Cole Brookstone looked older than he had in the picture in his file, which was logical, considering that the picture was nearly two years old. Otherwise, for the most part he looked the same; he was even wearing a similar black hoodie to the one he’d been wearing in the picture. Briefly Zane questioned where Cole had obtained it, as the entire outfit he was wearing was drastically different than the outfit he’d escaped in. The possibility that the teenager had stolen them presented itself, but Zane dismissed the possibility as an issue. Even if he had, it was much less than the recompense he deserved after everything the scientists had inflicted on him. 

It was interesting how the scientist’s experiments hadn’t left any visible marks. While it was true that Zane couldn’t actually see most of the teenager’s skin, the experiments that had been performed had apparently never broken his skin. Despite being fairly paler than Zane had observed the teenager from being in his initial picture, there was no physical evidence that Cole Brookstone had been held prisoner as a science experiment.

Well, no physical evidence if you discounted his body language. The drastically increased metabolism had been Zane’s primary concern for the human when he’d read through the results of the various experiments, and despite being internal, the results of that change were visibly apparent. As the minutes progressed Cole Brookstone’s shoulders hunched higher, indicating the increasing level of pain, and the “growling” of his stomach got louder. He was rapidly approaching the same level of distress that he had been in when Zane had found him.

They reached their destination, and Zane stopped, reaching into his pocket to obtain the credit card that Cyrus Borg had given him.

“ _Here?_ ” Cole Brookstone asked. “But—this is—”

The establishment was the “finest all-you-can-eat buffet in Ninjago”, according to the citizens that Zane had asked for dining suggestions while searching for Cole Brookstone.

Cole Brookstone’s stomach “growled” again, louder than any previous occurrence, and he flinched.

Zane quickly analyzed potential reasons for the teenager’s surprise. “I assure you, I possess more than enough funds to secure our seats.” 

“Really?” Cole Brookstone asked, staring up at the sign with wide eyes. Then he swayed, one of his legs giving out underneath him. Zane barely managed to catch him in time to keep him from completely collapsing on the cement. The teenager’s breathing was strained, his eyes—which were half-hidden by his hair—screwed shut.

The ground trembled almost imperceptibly.

Shifting his grip to support the teenager better, Zane guided Cole Brookstone into the establishment. 

The employee at the front desk frowned. “We don’t serve people who are intoxicated.”

“He is malnourished, not inebriated,” Zane explained. He handed her his credit card.

The employee frowned at them for a long moment, then ran the card. “You have booth N16.”

Zane guided Cole Brookstone to the correct booth, helping him to sit down. As the teenager was in too much pain to retrieve his own nourishment, Zane made his way to one of the many bars throughout the room. Nearly every type of food was present, and while Zane could identify most of them, he was unsure as to what Cole Brookstone would select. Then he spotted an array of chocolate. Concluding that it wouldn’t be a bad option, Zane took a plate and selected several dozen pieces, then quickly made his way back to Cole Brookstone.

Cole Brookstone had his head buried in his arms on the table, his torso barely rising and falling with shallow breaths. Zane seated himself across from him, placing the plate inches away from the teenager’s arms. 

Cole Brookstone slowly raised his head, his expression tight. It took a few moments, but then his gaze fell on the chocolate, and he let out a shuddering sob. For a moment Zane was confused, but as Cole Brookstone started downing the chocolates Zane dismissed it. He stood, returning to the bars.

As he approached the nearest bar, Zane identified a familiar voice. He pivoted, searching for the source—and located her near the sandwich bar, animatedly debating the pros and cons of different sandwiches with a small child.

Zane analyzed his options for a moment, then moved towards her. The child ran off as he approached, visibly satisfied, leaving Nation Ustria to select her sandwich.

“Hello Zane,” the secretary said when Zane reached her. For a moment he was startled—she was facing away from him, carefully examining the different sandwiches—but he quickly concluded that she had most likely seen him approaching.

Zane hesitated, then responded, “Hello. Which foods have the most calories?”

Nation Ustria turned to face him. “Why do you ask? I’m fairly certain that you don’t need to worry about that type of thing.”

“My charge requires a large calorie intake—one that exceeds the requirements for normal humans.”

Nation Ustria raised her eyebrows. “Alright then. Well, Zane-the-robot, allow me to show you around.”

Over the next several minutes the secretary led Zane around the establishment, identifying several high calorie foods. She had also explained that many humans didn’t prefer the flavors of several of the foods she identified—tofu and garbanzo beans being the examples she gave—but that it was dependent on the person.

Once she had completed her “tour”, Nation Ustria had bid her farewells and left in a hurry, citing that she was late for a meeting. At that point Zane’s plate was piled with a wide variety of high-calorie foods, so he returned to his and Cole Brookstone’s booth.

*****

Cole scraped his fork across his plate, gathering the last of the cake crumbs before licking the fork clean. Zane was watching him with what seemed to be mild interest, just as he had been doing so for the last four hours. Cole was actually fairly impressed with the guy’s patience. After he had gotten Cole those first chocolates, he’d left again and returned with the most random group of foods Cole had ever seen (apparently they were all high in calories), which he’d ensured Cole had eaten all of. Cole had been against eating the chickpeas—old habits die hard—but Zane had insisted, and when Cole had tried them, they’d actually tasted _way_ better than he’d remembered. 

Cole was a bit unsettled by the fact that he wasn’t sure if the change was because he had gotten older or if it was a result of what the scientists had done to him.

After finishing off Zane’s selection of high-calorie foods, Cole actually hadn’t been hungry anymore. At that point Zane had informed him that eating extra—something that Cole could apparently do a lot of—would actually be “highly beneficial” (seriously, the guy talked like a computer) and make it so that his body would actually be satisfied for longer than ten minutes. 

Of course, Cole had decided to go all-out. He _had_ been trapped in a lab with nothing but flavorless mash to eat for over a year, after all—and they _were_ at an all-you-can-eat buffet. He had had a serving of everything the restaurant had to offer, but had finally stuck gold in the dessert section—it turned out that cakes were _amazing_ and Cole had decided that he wanted to be able to eat them for every meal for the rest of his life. And he didn’t need Zane to know that they were high in calories, too, which made them even better.

After the first two hours the restaurant's manager had approached them. Apparently even “all-you-can-eat” places had a limit, but Zane had paid a second time (courtesy of Cyrus Borg, apparently), and the manager had left them to eat in peace.

Well, left Cole to eat in peace. As distracted as he’d been, it wasn’t until now—after a grand total of four hours—that Cole realized that Zane hadn’t eaten a single thing. Cole glanced down at his empty plate guiltily. He was finally satisfied, but the person who had made it so that that was even possible in the first place hadn’t gotten to enjoy himself.

“Aren’t you going to have something, Zane?” Cole asked.

Zane blinked, which seemed to happen every time Cole asked him a question. After a moment he turned, looking across the room at the different bars. A couple of long seconds later, he resumed the straight, stiff posture that he’d had all evening. “No.”

“Why not?” Cole questioned. The guy had paid for food for _both_ of them, after all—twice.

Zane glanced over at the bars again. “I do not know which items I should eat.”

‘Should’ eat? “It’s your choice, man. I mean, if you’re worried about healthiness and all of that, then just stick to the salad bar. If not, just choose something you like.”

“I do not know which items I would “like”.”

Okay, that was about as clear as mud. Cole habitually started brushing his hair out of his face with one hand, but stopped himself from actually doing so in the nick of time. His hands were a _disaster_ —the chocolate frosting streaked across the back of his fingers alone was gonna get everywhere if he didn’t wash it off soon.

“Well, what have you liked in the past?” Cole asked.

Zane stared at him. The moment stretched and Cole shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“I . . . “liked” chocolate,” Zane finally said.

Well, that was a start. “Cool,” Cole said, slipping out of the booth. “Get yourself some chocolate then. I’m gonna go wash off my hands.” He lifted both hands, wiggling his grease-and-sugar coated fingers to make his point.

Zane didn’t respond, so Cole took that as his exit cue, making his way across the restaurant to the bathrooms.

The bathroom was empty, which was something of a surprise, considering how full the dining area had been. On impulse, Coe started humming the melody of one of his favorite songs. The tiled walls had great acoustics, so Cole kept humming as he crossed to the sink. The water was ice-cold at first, which made Cole jerk back in surprise, but it warmed up quickly.

Cole used the time it took to wash his hands to admire the beauty of the materials that the bathroom was decorated with. As was traditional for restaurants, it was overly fancy. The walls were covered in an intricately patterned gold-and-black wallpaper, though the ceiling was painted a goldenish yellow to keep it from getting too dark in the room. The counter was gold-flecked black marble, the three sinks perfectly round basins of the same material. The faucets were elegantly shaped and shone gold—Cole suspected it was probably polished brass, but hey, it still looked good—and the soap dispensers were obviously custom ordered, the black-and-gold design matching the wallpaper. The mirror was fairly plain, a large rectangle set just above the counter, but the paper towel dispensers that Cole could see on the wall behind him in the reflection matched the faucets in both material and intricacy. The rest of the bathroom was around a corner, the room itself shaped like an L for some reason that Cole couldn’t guess. All of it was illuminated by a bright strip of golden-yellow lights that ran along the entire edge of the room where the walls met the ceiling.

Cole was drying off his hands when something changed. He froze, looking around the bathroom, but he couldn’t see anything different—at least, he didn’t until he looked in the mirror and saw that his hair had poofed out slightly.

Static.

Then the lights around the room flared, soft gold turning into a harsh white before there was the crackle of electricity and the room plunged into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger but it was a good point to end the chapter


	6. Chapter 6

Cole froze. For a moment he was back in the lab, being prepped to go through another of the scientists’ tests—

Cole shook his head, screwing his fists in the damp paper towel. He was fine, he was in the bathroom of a restaurant he’d wanted to eat at for _years_. So the power had gone out. There was nothing strange about that. 

Except, it _had_ been strange. The weird static that had filled the air—not to mention the way that the lights had gotten brighter before going out.

The door burst open, and Cole didn’t process that someone had grabbed him by the wrist until he was being dragged out of the bathroom. He squawked in alarm, yanking his arm away.

“We need to go,” Zane said, identifying himself as Cole’s attacker.

“You could have just _asked_ ,” Cole hissed into the darkness in the general direction Zane’s voice had been in. “And what do you mean, we need to go? It’s just a blackout.”

“No. It’s lightning.”

What? “You mean that lightning struck nearby?” Cole asked. He remembered hearing somewhere that the air felt like static right before lightning struck, so that would explain that, but didn’t you have to be right next to the location of the strike to feel the static? And Cole definitely hadn’t _heard_ any lightning. 

“No.” Zane grabbed Cole’s arm again, tugging him forwards. Cole stumbled after him as best as he could, wondering how the guy could see where he was going—Cole doubted that he’d be able to identify the shape of his hand in front of his face, it was so dark. The restaurant was alive with the worried voices of other customers, topped by the staff shouting for nobody to panic, that the backup generators would kick in soon.

“Lightning is both dangerous and in danger,” Zane said.

Great, that _really_ cleared things up. “What do you mean, “lightning”?” Cole asked, trying not to let his frustration leak into his voice. He definitely failed.

“Lightning,” Zane responded. “Just as you are earth.”

That was wonderfully cryptic. Lightning was as Cole was earth— _wait a minute_.

Cole stopped dead. There was a sharp yank on his arm as Zane continued moving, but Cole barely noticed it. “Are you saying that there’s someone else like me?!” he demanded. “Another experiment?!”

“Yes,” Zane replied, sounding slightly impatient. “There are four in total—earth, lightning, fire, and water. And currently, lighting is in danger.”

 _In danger._

Everything clicked, and Cole sucked in a sharp breath. If lightning’s powers acted anything like his own, then the blackout meant that they had lost control.

Which was very, very bad.

“Right. What do we do?”

*****

Zane sprinted along the sidewalk, Cole Brookstone immediately behind him. The establishment they had been in had been located on the edge of the blackout, which had taken the form of a large circle. That fact had been both beneficial and unfortunate—the former as it allowed Zane to calculate exactly which direction the lightning experiment was in, and the latter as it meant that it was going to require several minutes to reach them in order to provide aid.

Their route was parallel to the road and required them to travel over a dozen blocks. Zane maintained the optimal speed—the fastest possible that wouldn’t tire Cole Brookstone out before reaching their destination—throughout the entirety of the run, never once having to slow or stop, a feat that was only possible as none of the automobiles on the roads were moving. “Blackout” wasn’t the correct term for the damage that the lightning experiment had caused—the result was more similar to that of an EMP device. Every electronic within range had been shut down, although the combined appearance mimicked that of a blackout—the streets were dark, not a single artificial light source in sight.

Fortunately, Zane himself hadn’t been shut down, though he’d have to do an analysis of his mechanics at a later point to ascertain exactly why.

The buildings gradually shifted from skyscrapers to wider, shorter buildings, although they remained several stories in height. Zane was aware that this was the section of Ninjago City wherein its residents had a lower average income and there was a much higher crime rate. He had triggered alarms for many of the smaller businesses spread throughout the area, but the majority of security devices were indoors, as those mounted on the exteriors of buildings were much more likely to be stolen. As a result Zane was more unfamiliar with the area than he had been closer to the center of the city. He knew enough, though, to notice that the fact that sidewalks were getting increasingly empty as they neared their destination was fairly unusual.

They were about a block away from Zane’s calculated location of the lightning experiment when static reappeared in the air. It got more intense as they got closer to their destination, leading Zane to conclude that it was an area effect of the lighting experiment’s powers.

They were about a quarter of a block away when Zane’s internal systems started failing. Well, failing was the wrong term; the high quantity of static was interfering with the data flow to and from his systems, effectively paralyzing each one in stuttering bursts. Zane stumbled as one of his legs locked, falling forwards and catching himself on the pavement with his arms.

“What the—Zane, are you alright?” Cole Brookstone asked, dropping down next to him.

“De-define al-al-right.” Zane replied, his voice stuttering due to the interference. He tried to push himself up, but his movements were spasmodic for him to do so successfully.

Cole Brookstone’s eyes widened. “What’s happening to you?”

“The sta-static is in-inter-interfering wi-ith my sy-system-s,” Zane explained. His vision started flickering in and out, which produced an odd sensation that wasn’t pleasant.

“Your systems?”

Zane briefly recalled Nation Ustria’s advice, then concluded that he didn’t actually have a choice. “I a-am an an-andr-roid.”

*****

Cole stared at him for a long moment, but the jerky spasming was more than enough to prove that Zane’s words were true. It also explained a lot of other things that Cole had picked up about the guy.

Guy. Android. Whichever.

Alright, moving on.

“What do I do?” Cole asked. He didn’t know the first thing about robotics, but there had to be something he could do, right?”

It took Zane a moment to respond. “Hel-help lightning.”

Right. That was why they were here. But somehow, leaving Zane like this seemed wrong. “But—”

“I w-will be-e fine. Help th-them.”

Cole stood, hesitating for just a moment before turning and breaking into a sprint. He knew that he wasn’t that far away from lightning, and even if Cole somehow passed them, he could play hot and cold with the increasing levels of static.

Though it turned out that he didn’t need to.

The static peaked just as Cole passed an alleyway—which Cole skidded to a dead stop in front of, gaping at the sight before him.

Lightning filled the alleyway, tearing up and down the walls of the buildings and carving scorch marks into the bricks. Each bolt arced out from the same location, creating a spherical effect that reminded Cole of the plasma ball he’d played with in elementary school.

At the center of the lightning was a figure, curled tight into a ball. Cole could just barely make out a blue jacket and reddish hair through the bolts of lighting.

Hesitantly, Cole stepped into the alleyway—and a bolt of lightning slammed into his chest. 

Cole fell backwards, landing hard on his tailbone. He swore—and then finally processed that he’d just been _struck by lightning_. He scrambled backwards—out of the alleyway, away from the lighting—until he realized that he felt fine. Well, his tailbone hurt and he felt like he’d just downed a pot of coffee, but otherwise, fine.

He most certainly wasn’t dead like he probably should be.

Cole looked down at himself. His hoodie had a star-shaped burn mark that was barely visible, seeing as the material had been black to begin with, but outside of that there was no sign that he’d been struck by lighting.

Zane had said that Cole was earth, and once Cole had figured out what he’d meant—the guy/android hadn’t exactly been straightforward—Cole had presumed that Zane was merely referring to his powers. But, what if it was more than that? He already knew that the experiments had made him physically stronger—a _lot_ stronger—and strength itself could very easily be considered a quality of earth. But when it came to lighting—well, the earth itself wasn’t electrified when lightning struck it. Instead it absorbed and dispersed the electricity, the only damage received being a scorch mark on the surface.

So could Cole do the same? Well—he had to be able to, or he’d be dead already.

Cole climbed to his feet. The alleyway was still the same as before, though the figure at the middle seemed to have curled even smaller. They were obviously overwhelmed—which meant that Cole wasn’t going to be able help them from a distance.

Right. He was going in.

Which also meant that he needed to not get knocked back by the lighting every time was hit—despite the fact that the strike hadn’t done any damage, it had still shoved him back several feet.

Cole looked inwards, searching for the unnatural energy that the experiments had forced to develop inside him. It wasn’t hard to find—keeping a mental lid on it at all times meant that he was never completely unaware of its presence—but Cole hesitated to access it. Whenever he’d let it out before—or whenever it had forced its way out, using his emotions as an escape hatch—it had seemed to have a mind of its own. A very destructive mind.

But he wasn’t letting it out, this time. Not really. His power needed to stay inside of him for this to work.

He removed the lid.

Power burst through him and he staggered, falling to one knee. It was strong, insistent—it could sense the ground beneath Cole, and it surged through him, linking to the soil beneath the concrete—

The ground started to shake.

Panic stabbed through Cole’s chest but he shoved it aside. Panicking was _not_ going to help anyone. Least of all the source of the lightning, who was barely a dozen yards ahead of him.

Cole closed his eyes, then pulled his power back in. It wasn’t easy—the power was strong—but slowly the ground stilled.

Holding his power in made his body ache like he’d been hit by several trucks, but Cole didn’t give himself time to think about it. Instead he darted into the alleyway.

Lightning struck him, again and again and again, but Cole couldn’t feel a thing. It was beyond surreal—it felt like something out of a dream. 

It only took seconds to reach the figure in the center of the storm. Cole dropped to his knees in front of him, quickly looking the guy over. He was curled into himself tightly, hugging his legs to his chest as he buried his face in his knees. His chest was heaving with panicked, uneven breaths, all of which were way too shallow—he seemed to be having the worst anxiety attack that Cold had ever seen, a fact that the lightning that shot out of every part of his body attested to.

He needed to calm down—it was the only way that all of this was going to stop.

Gingerly, Cole reached out and placed a hand on the guy’s arm.

*****

Why did this _happen_ to him— _why_ had he _ever_ agreed to be part of that _stupid_ program—he’d already been an outcast _without_ lightning under his skin—but he’d escaped, _he’d escaped_ , but then held gotten lost and then some people had tried to jump him and—and he’d lost control—the lightning was forcing its way _out_ —

Something touched him and he jerked away, his head snapping up to see what had managed to get close to him—what had managed to get through the _lightning_ —

It was a _person_. A teenager who looked a little older than Jay, with longish, dark hair and even darker eyes.

And Jay watched with horror as bolts of lightning—of _his_ lightning, of the lightning that was forcing its way out of him—slammed into the boy.

Except—nothing happened. The boy didn’t react beyond his expression growing more concerned—the boy was worried, but not for himself—he should be, he _should_ be worried for himself—but he looked worried for _Jay_.

“ _How_ are you not dead?” Jay blurted. His—Jay’s—his lightning had killed an _elephant_ —that was over fifty times the amount that would fry a human— _how was he not dead???_

“I was an experiment, too,” the boy answered. 

Jay stared at him for a long moment—then emotions burst through his chest. Horror, shock, relief—there were _others_ —Jay wasn’t alone—others had been put through the same sort of torture—

The lightning latched onto the emotions, the power amplifying—it _hurt_ —it was forcing its way out even further—it was pressing against his skin from the inside, tearing against it in order to escape—there wasn’t any _air_ , Jay couldn’t _breath_ —the lightning was setting every nerve on _fire_ —

Something had enveloped Jay, something soft—the boy—the boy who should be dead—the boy Jay’s lightning should have _killed_ —had pulled him into a hug. For a few moments Jay fought—the boy was going to get _hurt_ , the lightning— _Jay’s_ lightning—was going to hurt him—but the boy was too strong, Jay couldn’t get away.

“You’re going to get hurt,” Jay whimpered. He had to warn him, had to get the boy to _leave_ —

“If by ‘hurt’ you mean ‘feel like I’ve had enough coffee to stay awake for the next decade’, I think I can handle it.”

Coffee? But—but the _lightning_ —

“I mean, I’m already handling it,” the boy continued. His voice was nice, sort of rumbly. “I have no idea how I’m going to sleep tonight.” There was a pause, then the boy added speculatively, “Maybe I can get Zane to punch me. That’d definitely knock me out.”

That startled a laugh out of Jay. It felt good—felt _amazing_ , actually—it was so different from the lightning. Jay couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed.

The positioning of the hug meant that Jay’s face was more or less buried in the boy’s shoulder—he smelled like burnt cloth, which wasn’t a surprise—the boy had been struck by _lightning_. Like three dozen times. But there was another scent, too, a subtler one that was underneath the burnt—something sweet.

Cake?

“That’s it,” the boy murmured. For a moment Jay was confused at what he meant—then Jay realized that he hurt less. The lighting wasn’t forcing its way out as much as before.

He was calming down.

Jay wanted to sob in relief, but he knew that doing so would make things worse again. Instead he focused on evening out his breathing.

In, out.

In.

Out.

Jay pressed his face against the boy’s shoulder. It felt really nice. 

A last few bolts of lightning forced their way out of him, then the lightning settled, buzzing gently underneath his skin.

He was okay.

*****

Cole hadn’t realized that he’d been holding his breath until the bolts of lightning had started to slow. He’d forced himself to breath out, shifting a little to adjust his hold on the guy he was holding. Not for the first time he’d thanked every power in the universe that the hug had seemingly helped the guy to calm down—Cole had drawn a blank on other ideas.

In order to distract himself from the way his power was pulsing somewhat uncomfortably under his skin, making every muscle ache, Cole studied the guy he was holding as best he could. He had curly reddish hair that was the biggest disaster Cole had ever seen, random curls sticking out in various directions, and from what little Cole could see of it it looked like faded freckles were splashed across his face, a pattern that continued around to the back of his neck. He was smaller than Cole—over half a foot shorter, Cole would guess, and significantly slimmer, though he wasn’t scrawny. Cole thought that he was about the same age as he was—possibly a little bit younger, but not by much.

Eventually the lightning stopped. The guy’s breathing had evened out, too, and Cole let himself relax. Carefully, he loosened his hold on his power.

Bad idea—the ground started to shake as Cole’s power surged, and he yanked it back in, stuffing it deep and slamming the lid back on.

The ground stilled.

The guy in Cole’s arms had tensed when the mini-earthquake had started, and now he seemed to be holding his breath. There wasn’t any lightning though, which was good.

“What was that?” the guy asked into Cole’s shoulder.

Cole winced. “Sorry.”

The guy pulled back, looking up at Cole with wide—and startlingly bright blue—eyes. “That was _you?_ ”

Before Cole could respond, though, the other guy said, “Oh, right, you’re a—you’re one too.”

Cole didn’t need him to explain what he was ‘one’ of. “Yep.” He glanced down at the concrete of the alleyway. “My . . .” He hesitated, not sure what to call the results of the experiments. “. . . powers,” he eventually decided, “are earth-based.”

The other guy snorted. “Calling them that makes us sound like some sort of superheroes.” He wrapped his arms around himself, tucking his chin against his chest. “Sorry about all of . . . that.”

“You’re fine,” Cole said, offering a smile. “If anything, it’s not me that you need to apologize to.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Cole silently cursed himself. He didn’t need to upset the guy again.

“What do you mean?” the guy asked, his eyes widening.

Habitually Cole scratched the back of his neck. What’s the best way he could deliver this? “Uh, you may have . . . knockedallthepoweroutforlikefourteenblocks, but it’s fine.” Wow, he’d done that _amazingly_. Not.

“What?!” the guy yelped. 

“It’s fine!” Cole said. “I don’t think you actually damaged anything—just shut everything electronic down. See, the lights are already back on.” It was true—once the lightning had stopped, the buildings around them had lit up again, although things were still oddly quiet. The alley was darker than it had been when lightning filled it, but there was enough ambient light for Cole to still see clearly.

“That’s not fine! What if I knocked out someone’s life support! What if I knocked out a _hospital!_ ” Sparks started zipping along the guy’s arms.

“You did not.”

Cole started, twisting around to find Zane walking down the alleyway towards them. The android seemed to have recovered fine now that the static was gone.

“I—I didn’t?” the lightning guy stammered.

“Correct. The nearest hospital was two blocks outside of the affected radius, and there aren’t any caretaking establishments in this area of the city.” Zane came to a stop, standing next to Cole. Cole had to tilt his head way up to look at him properly—the android may be a few inches shorter than Cole himself, but he was still pretty tall.

The lightning guy glanced between Zane and Cole, then finally relaxed, the sparks disappearing. “Okay. That’s good.”

There was an awkward moment of silence. 

“I’m Cole,” Cole said on impulse.

“Oh. Right.” The lightning guy let out a nervous laugh. “I’m Jay.”

Jay looked at Zane expectantly, but the android didn’t say anything. 

Cole rolled his eyes. “That’s Zane. He’s here to help.” Cole pushed himself up, climbing to his feet—and wincing a little as his muscles protested. 

“Help?” Jay asked, copying Cole. True to Cole’s guess, Jay was at least six inches shorter than him—maybe even closer to eight.

“Cyrus Borg has tasked me with locating each of you and ensuring your safety, as well as to offer his assistance,” Zane offered.

Jay had visibly tensed when Zane had said Mr. Borg’s name, so Cole reassured him, “Mr. Borg didn’t know about—” he hesitated, trying to figure out what exactly to say, “—what they did to us. Apparently he found out today and he wasn’t happy about it.”

“He didn’t know?” Jay asked skeptically. “It was _his_ scientists that—”

“Cyrus Borg has thousands of people in his employ, as well as hundreds of projects under his jurisdiction,” Zane interrupted. “He cannot personally observe everything, and your projects were well hidden.”

“Shouldn’t there have been some sort of system to check things, though? To identify when things like this are happening? We were held _prisoner_ ,” Jay said angrily. Sparks started running along his arms again.

“Jay,” Cole said quietly. Jay glanced at him, then followed Cole’s gaze to his arms. His eyes widened, then he took an exaggerated breath, obviously trying to calm himself down.

“There _was_ a system,” Zane replied. He actually sounded somewhat angry—it was the most emotion Cole had heard from him so far. “The reason it didn’t work was because the scientists in question kept nearly all of the data about each of you in analogue format, rather than digitally as is required and typically preferred, which meant that I was not able to identify that anything was amiss!” 

“That _you_ weren’t able to see anything?” Jay asked. He was calmer than before, but there was still anger in his voice. “Borg had a _person_ as his digital security system?”

Zane froze. Cole could easily imagine gears turning in his head—though his tech was probably more advanced than gears.

After a long moment of silence, Cole sighed. “He’s an android, Jay.”

It was Jay’s turn to freeze, but surprise quickly turned into excitement. “Wait, _really?_ ”

“I am,” Zane confirmed, though he said it quieter than he’d been talking before.

“That’s _so_ cool,” Jay gushed. “But—if you’re in charge of the security, then how are you running around looking for us?”

That was a good question, actually. Cole studied Zane as he waited for his answer. He wasn’t sure how he hadn’t realized that Zane wasn’t technically human—his body language was way too stiff, and the way he _talked_ —not to mention how oblivious he was about how some things worked.

It was _really_ obvious in hindsight. Though the fact that Zane was an android wasn’t bad or anything. It was just . . . different.

“I . . . have not been an android for a large amount of time,” Zane finally said. “I was downloaded into this machine approximately twenty hours ago. Previous to that I was simply an AI and integrated to the internet.”

“Oh,” Jay said, seemingly at a loss for words. Cole understood how he felt; Zane had only been—well—a person for _twenty hours?!_ “That’s cool,” Jay added. Then he grinned. “I’ve always wanted to meet an android.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you may not have caught it since it wasn’t from his POV, but Zane just experienced his first actual Emotion (anger), which shook him a little bit. The close contact with Cole and Jay may or may not have something to do with the fact that he’s developing them.  
> Also we had our first real look at powers! That was fun. And of course Jay is a bit of a disaster, as always, but he’ll be alright.  
> I’ve had this headcanon for a while that part of the reason that Cole and Jay are so close are because of the relationship their respective elements have, I dunno if that makes any sense, but yeah.  
> Please let me know if anything doesn’t make sense.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry in advance for the slight info dump, but it's Important Stuff that I had to include somewhere, so here it is.

Jay was fidgeting. He rotated between bouncing his leg, tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair and picking at the cuff of his jacket. At one point he’d wondered if the motions were bothering Cole, who was slouching in the next chair over, but the other boy didn’t _seem_ to mind. And it wasn’t like Jay had much of a choice, anyway. It was either fidget or let the lightning spark over his skin.

Jay checked the digital clock set into the wall across the small waiting room again, and was mildly annoyed to find that only twenty seconds had passed since he’d last looked. Zane had left them there barely ten minutes ago, but it felt like it’d been _ages_.

Maybe it’d been a bad idea to come here. Actually, Jay hadn’t even wanted to come here in the first place, but Zane had made an unfailingly logical argument for it—the type of argument that only a computer could make—and convinced Cole to at least try it out. Cole, of course, had then convinced Jay. And now they were in the waiting room just outside of the office belonging to Cyrus Borg—the man who’d employed and supplied the scientists that had experimented on him and Cole—and Jay wasn’t sure if he felt more like he was waiting outside of the principal’s office or was waiting for his execution.

Either way, it wasn’t a good feeling.

Lightning sparked over the back of Jay’s hand, pricking his skin like needles.

“You okay?” Cole asked. Jay glanced at him to find that the other boy had straightened, his dark eyes flicking between Jay’s hand and his face.

Jay took a deep breath, but when he exhaled it was shaky. “No, not really.” He left it at that, turning away from Cole’s gaze.

After a moment Cole said, “It’s not his fault, you know. What those—what they did to us. He didn’t know.”

Yeah, Jay knew that in his head, but otherwise . . . it hadn’t really sunk in yet. Or maybe Jay didn’t really know it at all—he still wasn’t sure that he believed that the inventor had been completely in the dark.

“It’s just . . .” Jay hesitated. Everyone he’d told this particular piece of information to in the past had laughed at him—well, with the exception of his parents, but they didn’t exactly count.

Jay’s chest tightened a little at the thought of his parents. They probably thought that he’d abandoned him—or that he was dead.

In a way, he sort of was.

Lightning sparked up his arms. Jay flinched at the tiny stabs of pain, though the areas that the lightning had first forced its way out of his skin were the only places that hurt for more than a tiny moment. Taking another deep breath, Jay crossed his arms over his chest.

A quick glance revealed that Cole was still watching him, his dark eyes filled with so much concern that for a brief moment Jay wondered if he was faking it. He dismissed the thought almost instantly, though—Cole was one of the few genuine people that Jay had ever met, he could tell that about him already. And currently he was simply waiting, not pushing for Jay to keep talking.

Somehow, that made Jay trust him even more.

“I used to idolize him,” Jay finally admitted, staring at the ceiling. “I mean, I know that he’s still fairly new in the business industry, but he was my role model even before he got “big”. When I applied to be part of—” he barked out a bitter laugh. “When I applied to be part of the _program_ , I was so excited to be involved in his company. Then . . .” 

Then Jay had been held against his will and forced through hundreds of experiments that had left him with lightning under his skin.

There was silence for a moment. Then Cole asked, “So you like tech stuff, then?”

Jay’s throat tightened. “I did,” he answered softly.

It was then that one of the doors to Borg’s office swung open. It happened so suddenly that Jay didn’t have time to react before he was looking at Borg himself—and the inventor was a _mess_. His usual suit jacket was missing and his black turtleneck had one sleeve rolled up higher than the other, the lower having seemingly started to unroll, and his hair looked like it’d been through a windstorm. All in all, the inventor looked like he had been working for a week straight.

“Hello boys,” Borg said. His voice was tight, trying to mask anger—anger that wasn’t directed at Jay or Cole, though. “Thank you for coming. If you would come in,” he requested, wheeling himself back into his office.

Cole stood, waiting for Jay to do so too before walking into the office.

For a moment Jay considered running. He could leave now, not have to deal with any of this—

Lighting sparked around his hands and he flinched. That was why he was here—Zane had said that Borg could help. That he _would_ help, if Jay let him.

Steeling himself, Jay walked into the office.

*****

Mr. Borg’s office was more or less as Cole had imagined it—if you excluded the dozens of towering stacks of Manila folders covering every available counter surface. Four smaller but more haphazard stacks sat on Mr. Borg’s desk, which was what clued Cole in to what the folders probably contained—the data recorded on him and the others. Zane _had_ said that the scientists had kept everything on paper, but somehow Cole hadn’t expected there to be so much.

There was a _click_ behind Cole, and he turned to find that Jay had closed the door behind himself. His expression was guarded, suspicion filling his movements as he kept his eyes fixed on Mr. Borg. There wasn’t any lightning though, which was good.

Cole had been surprised by how much more volatile Jay’s power was than his. Sure, Cole’s earthquakes could be massively destructive, but it took some fairly strong emotions for him to lose his handle on his power. For Jay, lightning seemed to start sparking around his hands anytime he even got _slightly_ nervous or upset—unless he directed the energy elsewhere. Currently, he was rapidly tapping his pointer finger against his leg, which was probably the only reason that he wasn’t sparking.

Mr. Borg sighed, adjusting his glasses as he wheeled to face them. 

“I know it’s not worth much,” Mr. Borg started, “but I want to apologize to both of you. What you were forced through was not only deeply wrong, but horribly inhumane—and I am so sorry that both of you had to endure it. I know that you have little reason to trust me, but I will tell you here and now that if I had found out about what was happening to you earlier, I would have put an immediate stop to it—I would have prevented it from happening at all, if I could’ve. But unfortunately, it took your combined escapes for me to discover what had happened to you, and I blame myself for not finding out earlier.” Mr. Borg looked at both of them seriously. His expression was pained.

“I asked Zane to retrieve you because of the danger of the situation that both of you are in,” Mr. Borg continued, slightly changing the topic. “You know better than I the danger presented both to yourselves and those around you. I want to help reduce that threat as much as possible.”

“How?” Cole asked, skeptical. Sure, the idea sounded good—but everything the scientists had ever done had only ever made things worse, and he doubted that Mr. Borg would be able to reverse what they’d done, despite his supposed genius.

“What he said,” Jay said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“By stabilizing your power,” Mr. Borg replied simply. When both Cole and Jay stared at him, not understanding, Mr. Borg explained. “Everything those _people_ —” he spat the word like it tasted bad, “—did to you was to increase your power, from what I can make out of the data. The larger and stronger your power became, the more uncontrollable it got, correct?”

He was right. Cole hadn’t actually thought about it before, but that was exactly what had happened. Way back at the very beginning—before he’d been held prisoner—when the unnatural energy had first bloomed inside of him, it had been small, and Cole had been able to use it to shape sand into a perfect pyramid without touching it.

He’d been taken prisoner the next day.

Now, though, there was so much energy—so much _power_ inside of him that Cole couldn’t tell how much there was. It seemed to be endless—and Cole only had the slightest amount of control over any of it.

Judging by Jay’s expression, the same was true for him.

“The experiments increased your power,” Mr. Borg explained, ”but as they did so they also destabilized them. Think of it as an old-fashioned scale: the more that the quantity aspect of your power was influenced, the more that certain other aspects also needed to be influenced in order to keep the balance. However, those who did this to you did nothing to maintain that balance, so now your power is extremely unstable and correspondingly near-uncontrollable.” Mr. Borg hesitated for a moment. “I’m hoping that I can restore that balance.”

“‘Hoping’?” Jay asked.

Mr. Borg sighed. “I’m almost certain it's possible, though not exactly easy. Unfortunately, I still have quite the amount of reading to do before I’ll be able to understand what exactly they did to you, much less how to balance your power.”

“ _You_ do?” Jay questioned again. “What, you’re not passing everything on to your employees?”

“No.” Mr. Borg’s voice had gone sharp. “To do so would create the possibility that you could be mistreated in some way again, and I’m not allowing that. You’re _people_ —patients, I suppose— _not_ experiments.”

Jay seemed to accept that, his shoulders relaxing—though he was still tapping his finger.

“And how would this work, exactly?” Cole asked. Mr. Borg’s last statement had displayed that his intentions were good, but Cole _wasn’t_ going to be a prisoner again.

Mr. Borg’s face tightened. “That’s the tricky bit. You would have to stay here—not as prisoners, of course, you’d be able to leave whenever you wanted, although I wouldn’t recommend doing so until your power is more stable. But as for actually stabilizing your power,” he winced. “I’m afraid that at first glance, it appears that it will require similar procedures to those that you were forced through.”

“What—no! No _way_ ,” Cole protested as Jay yelped, “Nope—absolutely _not!_ ” The guy had to be _insane_ if he thought that they would ever—

The lights got brighter. Cole’s attention snapped to Jay—who had lightning arcing up and down his body.

“ _No!_ ” Jay choked out, still protesting. He was holding his arms close to his chest, his eyes wide.

Cole stepped towards him, but Jay backed away. “Jay, you’ve _got_ to calm down.”

“I can’t—I _can’t_ do that again,” Jay stammered. “I _won’t_ —you—you can’t make me!” The lightning started jumping off of him, striking the ground.

“I’m not going to,” Mr. Borg said firmly, though his eyes had gone wide. “Not a single thing is going to happen to you without your absolute consent, I swear on my mother’s grave.”

“Why would we ever consent to go through that again?” Cole growled.

“Because you wouldn’t have to go through it like you did before—you’d be sedated for the procedures, just like how people are sedated for surgeries,” Mr. Borg explained in a rush. “And on the off-chance that you’d have to be awake for some of them, you’d receive as many painkillers as possible. You’d be _patients_ , not experiments.”

That . . . actually sounded decent. Part of Cole was still protesting about being involved in anything even resembling the experiments, but if he wasn’t awake for them—and, they _were_ going to help, after all.

Jay calmed down some, the lightning retracting, though it kept sparking around his hands. “And . . . you’re not going to force me? Force us?” he corrected.

“Never,” Mr. Borg said. “You’d need to give your consent for every procedure.”

“And we could choose to walk away,” Cole checked. As nervous as he was, he didn’t think he was actually going to—but he had to check.

“Of course,” Mr. Borg replied softly. “Although, I won’t sugarcoat the fact that if you chose to leave and another incident like the one that happened earlier tonight occurred—which I’m afraid is rather likely—that other, less savory characters could very easily learn about you, and I doubt that what you’d experience at their hands would be much better than what you just escaped from.”

A shudder ran down Cole’s spine. He hadn’t thought at _all_ about that possibility.

“And . . .” Jay paused, taking a deep breath. The sparks flickered out as he resumed his tapping. “And . . . everything . . . is going to help, right? Help make us better?”

“Of course,” Mr. Borg responded. “That’s the entire point, after all. Though, I’m afraid that it will take months—perhaps even years before your power will be fully stabilized.”

Silence fell. Cole considered all of the new information, looking for anything he’d missed.

“It’ll be the same for the other two?” he finally asked.

Jay frowned. “Other two?”

Hang on, had Cole not mentioned them? “There’s two other experiments,” Cole supplied. “Sorry, I thought that Zane or I had mentioned that.”

Jay looked to Mr. Borg. 

Mr. Borg nodded. “Fire and water,” he confirmed. “Zane is out looking for them right now.”

Jay let out his breath. “Right. Okay.”

There was silence for another moment, then Mr. Borg asked, “So?”

Ultimately, there wasn’t really a choice, was there? Though it was a testament to Mr. Borg’s character that he’d tried to give them one.

“I’ll stay,” Cole said quietly.

Jay hesitated, then added, “Me too.” A single spark flashed around his hand.

Mr. Borg let out a long breath. “Right. Well, if you’d follow me, I’ll lead you to your living quarters.” He started wheeling towards the door.

“Hang on, you have stuff set up already?” Cole asked as he followed him.

Mr. Borg paused, turning. A smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The basics, yes. I _am_ the owner and CEO of one of the biggest companies in the world.”

Jay giggled—full on giggled—then clapped a hand over his mouth, his cheeks turning red. Mr. Borg laughed softly before wheeling out of the room.

“C’mon, sparkplug,” Cole said, bumping Jay’s shoulder with his own as he followed Mr. Borg.

“ _What_ did you just call me?” Jay sputtered from behind him.

Cole grinned. “You heard me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that there was no Zane in this chapter. We'll switch back to him in the next one.


	8. Chapter 8

Zane stared out of the window of the automobile, not actually processing what he was seeing. His attention was focused on running the sixth self-diagnostic that he’d executed since entering the automobile at Borg Tower.

Once again, the results reported that nothing was amiss.

Except, something _had_ to be. The way that Zane’s systems had reacted when Jay Walker had accused Cyrus Borg of being implicit of the experiments performed on them didn’t make sense. The way that Zane had _felt_ hadn’t made sense, because it hadn’t been an input. Yet the sensation had still occurred, and it had caused him to respond alternatively to how his algorithms would normally dictate—which not only didn’t make sense, but shouldn’t have been technologically possible in the first place.

The automobile slowed to a stop, gently chiming to inform Zane that he had reached his destination. The automobile was one of Borg Industry’s nearly completed projects—the “self-driving car”. Cyrus Borg had instructed him to take it when Zane had set out to locate the last two experiments, citing that Ninjago City was quite expansive. It had been a wise decision; at 1:02 AM facial recognition software had identified the two experiments at the edge of the city, data which was relayed to the automobile’s computer.

Zane restructured his priorities, effectively “setting aside” the issue of the sensation he had experienced as he exited the automobile. He had a task to complete.

Briefly Zane touched his jacket pocket, ensuring that the item he’d obtained in case the worst occurred was still within.

He was in the warehouse district on the southernmost edge of Ninjago City. The cameras had identified the two experiments—the siblings Kai Smith and Nya Smith—as they had entered a warehouse about an hour previously, though the duo had managed to avoid triggering any alarms.

Zane made his way to the correct warehouse. It was identical to those around it, excluding its identification number. Cyrus Borg had informed him that the warehouse belonged to Chen’s Noodles, the most successful noodle chain in Ninjago. As such Zane was to attempt to minimize any damage so as to prevent additional attention being drawn to the experiments—Cyrus Borg had managed to keep their existence a secret so far, though it had taken some work and rewarding some large bonuses to conceal the true cause of the blackout.

Reaching the personnel entry, Zane entered the clearance code that every storage unit belonging to Chen’s Noodles had had for years into the security pad: _ANACONDRAI_. The security pad flashed green and there was a quiet _click_ as the door unlocked.

Zane entered the warehouse, gently closing the door behind him. It was extremely dark, but Zane’s eyes adjusted quickly, their subsystems activating night-vision mode. 

The warehouse was big, but Zane was certain that the two experiments were somewhere within. He started down the nearest aisle, moving as quietly as possible and listening for any sign of the siblings.

*****

Nya shifted, trying to return to the comfortable sleep that she’d finally managed to fall into. Something was dragging her into the waking world, though, something that wasn’t the semi-uncomfortable makeshift bed of spice packets that she’d built for herself. Something had changed. She was . . . warmer.

Nya’s eyes snapped open. She shot upright—which caused her brother to start, squeaking in alarm.

“ _Geez_ , Nya,” Kai growled. “Don’t do that!”

Nya narrowed her eyes at her brother, studying him in the light of the electrical lantern they’d stolen. He looked . . . agitated. He obviously hadn’t gotten any sleep—if his current posture was anything to go by, he’d been pacing, which definitely wasn’t normal for Kai. 

“What’s wrong?” Nya asked.

“Nothing. I’m _fine_ ,” Kai snapped. His chest was heaving, his hands opening and clenching into fists. Combined with his overly spiky hair, which apparently was stuck in the ridiculous style he’d put it up in right before they’d been taken prisoner, he would’ve looked rather intimidating if Nya didn’t know him so well.

“You’re _not_ fine,” Nya stated flatly. “What is it? Nightmares?”

“ _No_ ,” Kai snarled. “I—it’s—I don’t _know_. I’m just . . . _angry_.” He forced his hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in obvious frustration. As soon as he let go they bounced back into the spikes.

“At what?” Nya asked, concerned. Kai had always had a temper, but this . . . this was new. It was obvious that it had to be caused by something the scientists had done to him, but Nya didn’t remember anything like this ever happening to her. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Kai’s element was fire?

“I _don’t know_ ,” Kai growled. “Nothing. _Everything_. I just—I want to _punch_ something!”

It was getting warmer. Nya glanced around, futility checking for some other reason behind the rising temperature. Of course, there wasn’t one. The heat was coming from her brother.

“Kai, you need to calm down,” Nya warned softly.

“I’m _trying_ ,” Kai burst out. He was practically shouting. “I— _nothing’s working!_ ” 

The temperature kicked up another few notches. 

Nya stood, reaching out to grip her brother’s shoulder—and jerked away as soon as she made contact, hissing in pain. Kai was almost as hot as the metal that got pulled out of the forge— _start-anything-he-touches-on-fire hot_. 

It was then that Nya noticed that her brother’s clothes were smoldering.

Kai wordlessly growled in frustration, digging both hands into his hair again.

Nya was at a total loss. Kai needed to calm down, but trying to help him do so even _before_ the scientists had experimented on them had been a minefield. 

But she had to do _something_.

“Kai,” she found herself saying, “look at me.”

Kai’s gaze snapped to her, his chest heaving—his eyes were _glowing_. Chocolate brown had turned into a burning orange, like embers in a fire pit.

“ _What_ ,” he snapped.

“You need to focus, Kai,” Nya said. “We’re alright, we’re okay, everything’s going to be fine.”

That had been the wrong thing to say.

“ _Fine?_ ” Kai snarled. “I’m not— _we’re_ not fine! They tortured us, and now I can’t—I can’t even— _argh!_ ” 

The temperature skyrocketed—and the bed of spice packets behind Nya burst into flame. She yelped, stumbling away from it, but the temperature was still rising and the air was disappearing—

She tripped on something, then the world went dark.

*****

Kai watched in horror as his little sister collapsed, landing hard on the cement floor—but horror quickly morphed into more anger, and the fire burned higher as the contents of the shelves around him started to smolder.

Kai backed away from Nya. The anger in his chest—the anger that he’d always struggled with but was now a thousand times stronger, the anger that made him want to fight everyone and burn the _world_ down—was fueling the fire in his veins, and he couldn’t get it to _stop_. He didn’t even have a _reason_ to be so angry—if anything, he should be exhausted, considering that he hadn’t slept for over twenty-four hours, but instead he was so _angry_ and he didn’t even know _why_.

The shelves were on fire now. _Nya_ was surrounded by fire, but she was far enough away from it that she wasn’t getting burned, Kai could somehow tell that, and as she was on the ground she was low enough to avoid most of the smoke.

Why wasn’t there a sprinkler system?! _Something_ had to put this out, because Kai couldn’t—he was just getting _angrier_ , the fire in his veins burning hotter—

“You need to calm down.”

Kai yelped, spinning around—a wave of fire burst from his hands and he did, flaring out around him. The guy who had spoken was too far away to be hit by it, though, and for some reason that mde Kai _furious_.

“ _Don’t_ tell me what to do,” Kai snarled, the fire in his veins flaring.

“If the temperature continues to increase, your sister will die,” the guy said flatly. “It’s only due to the experiments that she has been through that she hasn’t already.”

That got through to him. Kai took a deep breath, desperately trying to calm himself, but—“I can’t,” he growled. “I—I want to, but I _can’t!_ ”

The guy pulled something out of his pocket.

Was that a _gun?_

Then something pricked Kai’s leg, and he looked down to find that a silver dart was sticking out of it.

The world blurred, then went dark.

*****

Zane returned the tranquilizer gun to his pocket as Kai Smith crumpled to the ground. Instantly, the unnatural heat that filled the air started to fade.

Zane moved to the teenager’s side and examined him. He was unnaturally hot—over 250° F/121° C, which attested to how drastically the experiments he’d been forced through had affected his biology, considering that humans typically couldn’t withstand being over 108° F/42° C without dying. The teenager had been fortunate that his clothes hadn’t ignited, though judging by the black streaks that marred the cloth, that event hadn’t been far off.

Water started raining down on them. The air had cooled sufficiently to allow it through—the temperature had been so high previously that it had evaporated the water sprayed by the sprinkler system long before it would have reached the flames.

Satisfied that Kai Smith was stable for the time being, Zane moved to examine Nya Smith. She, too, had a higher temperature than was typical, though hers wasn’t much higher than the tolerance point of a normal human’s—and with the water raining down on her, she was quickly cooling. In fact, she was also _absorbing_ a large percentage of the water that landed on her, the liquid disappearing into her skin.

After confirming that Nya Smith was also stable, Zane transferred each of them out to the automobile.

*****

Cole was jerked awake by shouts. For a long moment he was disoriented—he wasn’t in the cement room that he’d gotten so used to waking up to.

The last twenty-four hours resurfaced in his brain, and he relaxed. He was in his bedroom—yes, an actual _bedroom_ , complete with furniture and everything, Mr. Borg was _awesome_ —and he was safe.

Although, something was happening.

Cole slipped out of bed, glancing at the alarm clock on his nightstand. It was almost three in the morning, which meant that Cole had only gotten about five hours of sleep. Although, considering that it had been in a nice, soft bed and not a concrete floor, it might as well have been a million.

Cole opened his door, looking out into the large common area. Mr. Borg had dedicated half a floor of Borg Tower to be Cole’s and the others’ living space; the four bedrooms (plus two spares) lined one side of the area, each fairly sizable. Opposite of the bedrooms was a large room that was apparently going to be a “lounge” room, where the TV and the computers and such would be, and the room on the right wall was going to be a kitchen area with the doors to the elevator occupying the corner. The room that was on the left wall was the infirmary, which had been the first room Mr. Borg had ordered to be set up. The common area was the square space in between the box of rooms, large and currently empty. The kitchen, lounge, and infirmary all had glass instead of a wall dividing them from the common area, making it easy to see into each one.

Currently, what looked like a bunch of paramedics were wheeling two gurneys towards the infirmary, followed by Mr. Borg. Zane stepped into the room after them, though he didn’t follow the others to the infirmary.

“What’s going on?” Jay asked, sticking his head out of his bedroom. His eyes went big when he saw all of the people in the infirmary.

“Zane?” Cole called, stepping into the common area.

Zane turned, then made his way over to them. As he got closer Cole realized that they guy was soaked—and he smelled like smoke.

“What happened?” Cole asked.

“I found the other experiments,” Zane said simply. “Fire had lost control.”

“Was anyone hurt?” Jay asked, stepping out of his room.

“Only his sister, and she will recover.” Zane glanced at the infirmary.

“Wait a minute, fire and water are siblings?” Jay asked.

Cole blinked. They were?

“Fire is water’s older brother,” Zane confirmed. “Kai Smith and Nya Smith.”

“They must have applied together,” Cole realized.

“What . . .” Jay hesitated, looking conflicted. “What was it like? Fire—Kai—losing control?”

Zane blinked, then stated, “You wish to compare your loss of control to his.”

Jay went red. “I—yeah. Is that wrong?” A spark flickered across one hand.

“No,” Zane replied. “Doing so could be an effective way to learn about your own power, which is not a “wrong” intention. However, my observations lead me to conclude that the two events in which each of you lost control of your abilities are too dissimilar to be of much use.”

Jay deflated a little.

“Well, now I’m curious,” Cole countered. “What happened?”

Zane was silent for a moment, his expression blank, and Cole guessed that he was doing whatever the android version of thinking was. Processing?

“The cause of your outburst of your abilities was anxiety, was it not?” Zane asked.

Jay hesitated for half a second, then answered, “Yeah.”

Zane nodded. “I was not present to observe what initially caused Kai Smith’s outburst, but I was able to identify that the emotion fueling his power was anger. As a result, temperatures rose to unnatural heights and many items around him combusted.”

“Combusted?” Cole asked. He thought that meant “blew up”, but that didn’t make much sense.

“Started on fire,” Jay supplied.

“Oh.” Yeah, that made more sense.

“Unlike your outburst, however,” Zane continued, “which ended when you managed to calm, Kai Smith was unable to end his outburst. While I am not certain, it appeared that his power was fueling his anger just as much as his anger was fueling his power.”

Yikes. Cole glanced at the infirmary. No wonder the guy was in bad shape.

Wait a minute.

“If he didn’t calm down, then how did you . . .” Cole trailed off, unsure of how to finish the question.

“I sedated him with a tranquilizer gun,” Zane said simply.

“You _what?_ ” Jay yelped, lightning sparking around his hands.

Cole stared at the android, disbelieving.

“If I had not, Nya Smith would have died,” Zane explained, his expression the same as ever. “The temperature was reaching too high for her to endure.”

Cole and Jay glanced at each other. In that context, his actions made sense—but if Kai had been knocked out, and Nya had presumably lost consciousness, it meant that neither of them had agreed to come here.

Things weren’t going to be pretty when they woke up.

*****

Zane was sitting on the bed in one of the spare bedrooms. Cyrus Borg had said that Zane could claim it as his own, if he so chose, seeing as Zane didn’t have a home, although Zane didn’t know if he was going to or not. Immediately, however, he needed a space that was separated from others. 

Retrieving Kai Smith and Nya Smith had affected Zane more than he had concluded it would. True, the actual events of the retrieval hadn’t been unexpected, but observing Kai Smith . . .

Zane had _recognized_ the way that Kai Smith was acting. True, the teenager’s case had been much more severe—but his actions were being influenced the same way that Zane’s had back in the alleyway.

Zane had been feeling _anger_.

And after tonight’s events, Zane was extremely aware of how destructive anger could be.

What did it mean for him that he had experienced it?

Was he going to experience it again?

Would it be a good thing if he did?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the unannounced "long" break between posting chapters (for this fic, anyway, considering that I was doing like two chapters a day). I can't vouch for how regular my posting will be for the future, but I'll at least have a new chapter each week, probably more like two or three, which I'll post as I write.  
> Anyways, enjoy!

A stab of pain woke Cole up. He grunted, reflexively curling into a ball to protect himself. After a few moments, though, the pain faded into hunger.

Cole forced his eyes open. He was still in his new bedroom, and the alarm clock’s blue numbers were proudly glowing in front of his face. 5:57. Going off of the fact that there wasn’t any sunlight coming through the window, Cole was going to guess that it was still morning and that he hadn’t slept through an entire day like his stomach was trying to make him believe.

Grunting, Cole climbed out of bed. The hunger threw his center of balance off a little, causing him to stagger on his way to the door. It took a couple of tries to get the doorknob to turn enough—a fact that Cole would probably be embarrassed about if his attention wasn’t already on something else—for him to stumble into the common area.

Where he was immediately attacked.

Something slammed into his side. Already off-balance, Cole went down hard. He ended up on his back, the air knocked out of his chest—and staring up at a guy with the spikiest hair that Cole had ever seen. The guy was pinning Cole’s wrists to the ground by his head, but Cole was more distracted by the fact that the guy’s eyes were _orange_ —and then Cole realized that the hands on his wrists were _really_ hot. Not hot enough to burn him, thankfully, but close enough.

Cole’s brain was somehow still functioning despite the intense hunger and provided him with the fact that the guy—who was scowling—was most likely Kai Smith, the experiment whose element was fire.

“Let us go!” Kai demanded. He sounded absolutely furious.

Cole stared up at him, confused. After a long moment he asked, “What?”

“I _said_ , let us go,” Kai growled. 

“Uh, I’m pretty sure that _I_ should be the one asking _you_ to let me go,” Cole countered, completely lost. His stomach growled, twisting unpleasantly, and he winced.

Confusion flashed across Kai’s face. “You’re . . . _not_ holding us prisoner?”

Cole gave him the best _duh_ face he could manage. 

“Then why are the doors locked?” Kai asked fiercely.

Were they? Cole twisted, trying to look in the direction of the elevator doors, but he couldn’t see a thing.

Cole’s stomach growled again. Cole took a deep breath, doing his best to ignore the hunger, but it was starting to turn into pain again.

“Where are we?” Kai demanded. “Why won’t Nya wake up? What did you do to her?”

The air was getting warmer. “The medics might’ve sedated her,” Cole answered through gritted teeth. His midsection was _really_ starting to hurt. “They prob’ly wanted to make sure she’d gotten enough rest before getting up. Can you get _off_ of me?”

“Not until you tell me where—”

“For _goodness sakes_ , Kai!” a distinctly female voice rang out. Kai jolted, his grip on Cole’s wrists loosening as he turned—

And then Cole was sputtering because water had dumped down on top of him. Kai’s grip disappearing, Cole rolled onto his side, curling around himself and groaning against the pain. He _really_ needed to eat. Soon.

*****

Nya had been confused when she’d woken up in what seemed like a hospital bed. She’d been even _more_ confused to realize that she wasn’t in a hospital, but some sort of infirmary attached to a bunch of other rooms.

Then her confusion had turned to a mixture of concern and exasperation as she saw that her brother was pinning a dark-haired boy in pajamas to the ground and practically shouting questions at him.

Nya scrambled out of the not-a-hospital bed—thankfully she wasn’t hooked up to anything—and almost ran into the glass wall that divided the infirmary from the main area before darting to the end of the room and through the doorway, crying out, “For _goodness sakes_ , Kai!”

Her brother started, turning with wide eyes—with wide _orange_ eyes. Which was when Nya realized that the air out here was a lot warmer than it had been in the infirmary.

Not good. But it wasn’t as hot as it had gotten in the warehouse, which probably meant that Kai still had time to cool down—

Acting on impulse, Nya summoned a large sphere of water and dropped it on her brother.

Steam filled the room, hissing loudly. For a moment Nya worried that she hadn’t summoned enough water, but then the steam cleared to reveal that Kai was soaked, sitting on the ground with a stunned expression. His eyes were brown again, which was good, and the water had flattened his hair—even as Nya watched, though, it started returning to the spikes.

Then the washback hit Nya and she staggered, falling to hands and knees. As always, it felt like she’d been detached from her body, almost as if she was watching herself from a distance. A vibrating pain was the only thing that cut through the numbness.

Then Kai was by her side, pulling her into his arms. She couldn’t quite make out what her brother was saying, but it sounded mildly panicked. 

Nya focused, pushing through the numbness and the pain. “I’ll be alrigh’,” she murmured. “This always happens.” She snuggled further into her brother’s arms, thankful for his wet clothes. The water was absorbing into her skin, every drop helping her recover faster.

Eventually the pain faded and she was grounded in her body again. She gently pushed herself away, tilting a reassuring smile up at her brother. Kai’s expression was filled with worry, but his shoulders relaxed.

There was a low groan. Nya turned to see the boy that Kai had been shouting at had curled into a ball. He was also soaked, which Nya instantly felt bad about.

“Hey, are you alright?” Nya called, pushing herself to her feet and hurrying towards the boy.

There was a scrambling sound behind her. “Nya, wait—”

Nya turned, leveling a glare at her brother. “You _attacked_ him, Kai. He might be hurt.”

“I didn’t _attack_ him—” Kai sputtered as Nya dropped down to her knees. The boy’s expression was pained, his eyes screwed shut as he curled around his middle. Nya couldn’t see any injuries, but obviously _something_ was wrong.

“Are you hurt?” Nya asked. She sensed, rather than saw, her brother come to a stop, standing behind her.

The boy in front of her jerkily shook his head, but he didn’t open his eyes. “My . . . metab’ism . . .” he grunted.

His . . . what? Nya glanced back at her brother, but he shrugged at her, expression confused.

The boy’s stomach growled— _loudly_. Loud enough for Nya to jerk back, startled.

Then the ground started to move.

“Seriously?!” Kai exclaimed. “An earthquake?! Now?!”

Then a door banged open and a boy darted into the room, stumbling slightly as the ground jerked. “Cole are you—” his eyes went big as he saw them. But his focus quickly narrowed to the boy on the ground. “Cole!” he shouted. “What’s wrong?”

For a long moment, though, Nya stared at the new boy—there were _sparks_ darting around his arms, tiny bolts of lightning that zipped out of his skin. There was _no_ way that was normal, which meant—

He was like them.

Which in all likelihood meant that the boy on the ground—Cole—was too.

Wait a minute.

The glass window that divided the empty room across from the infirmary shattered.

“We’ve gotta find cover!” Kai shouted.

The lightning boy shook his head. “We’ve got to help Cole!”

The pieces clicked together in Nya’s head. _Cole_ was the one causing the earthquake, wasn’t he? He was in pain, and because of that he’d lost control.

Briefly, Nya felt a surge of irritation at her brother. “How do we help?” Nya shouted at the lightning boy as he finally reached Cole’s side, dropping to his knees.

Another pane of glass—the divider across from what Nya assumed were the bedrooms, located behind Nya—shattered.

“We—I don’t know! What’s wrong?” the lightning boy asked.

Cole curled in on himself even tighter, letting out a pained cry. The shaking increased.

Then there was a small _pop_ , barely loud enough to be heard, and Cole sagged, unconscious. Everything went still.

Nya and the lightning boy both stared at the silver dart that had appeared in Cole’s shoulder for a long moment, uncomprehending—at least until Kai cried out, “ _You!_ ”

Nya spun, jumping to her feet to see a boy with white hair pocketing a gun.

“You tranqed Cole!” the lightning boy cried, also shooting to his feet, sparks still dancing around his arms.

“The earthquake he was causing was about to demolish half of Ninjago City,” the white-haired boy replied, his voice perfectly even. “He will be fine.”

“Is everyone alright?” a new voice asked anxiously. Nya turned—was that _Cyrus Borg?_

*****

Kai was beyond confused, he was—uh, he didn’t actually know the right word, but whatever was more than confused he was that. Because an _earthquake_ had just happened? And it had stopped when the same guy that had shot him back in the warehouse had shot the boy that Kai had been questioning, and Kai felt like the reason _why_ that had worked was staring him in the face, but he couldn’t see it. Also there was a guy that had lightning sparking around his arms? He felt like how that worked was obvious, too, but combined with the fact that three minutes ago his power had almost gotten out of control _again_ and then he’d been soaked and then there’d been a freaking _earthquake_ he was a just _little bit_ confused. Oh, and beyond sparky boy and the guy he’d interrogated and the guy who’d _shot_ him back at the warehouse there was also some guy in a wheelchair with them now.

“ _What_ the—” Kai used a word he’d normally never say around Nya (even if she used it more than he did), “—is _going on?!_ ” Heat flared in his veins, but the water that was making his clothes stick to his skin kept it from getting too hot.

Silence. Kai glared at each person in turn—except for Nya and the unconscious guy—though he wasn’t sure if he was trying to threaten them or was demanding an explanation. Maybe both.

“What happened?” the guy in the wheelchair finally asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Cole lost control,” sparky boy answered. True to the mental nickname Kai had unconsciously assigned him, sparks were still flickering around his hands. “I don’t know why.”

“He said something about his,” Nya hesitated, then quoted, “‘metab-ism’? I mean, Kai also kind of attacked him, but he said he wasn’t hurt.”

“Kai _what?_ ” sparky boy yelped.

“I didn’t _attack_ him,” Kai protested. He’d just . . . questioned him. Although with the way that his power had been burning through him, Kai might have been a bit rougher than he’d meant to.

When Nya had spoken, the gun guy had hurried to the unconscious guy’s side. “His breathing is shallow,” he now reported. “And his pulse is weak. If he doesn’t receive sustenance soon, his body will irreversibly damage itself.”

Wheelchair guy swore. “Zane, get him into one of the infirmary beds and hook up an IV. Jay, get downstairs to level 27 and tell them what’s happened; the elevators should still be working.”

“The elevators still work after an _earthquake?!_ ” sparky boy—Jay?—exclaimed.

“Excluding the glass, Borg Tower is one of the most structurally sound buildings in all Ninjago,” wheelchair guy confirmed. Sparky boy—Jay—nodded, darting towards the now-open doors.

It was then that things finally started to fit together in Kai’s head.

“There were _more_ experiments?” Kai demanded, glaring at the person who could only be Borg himself. “And you _knew?_ ”

“I _didn’t_ know,” Borg replied firmly. “And yes, outside of you and your sister, there’s Jay, who I just sent downstairs, and Cole, who Zane just carried into the infirmary. Lightning and earth to you and your sister’s fire and water.”

“And what are we doing here?” Kai asked angrily, the heat in his veins flaring again. If Borg thought that he was going to get to experiment on them—

“I’m attempting to make it so that you can control your powers,” Borg answered. “That way they’re not a danger to anyone and you four can live normal lives.”

Oh. Kai . . . didn’t have anything to say to that.

*****

Jay bounced his leg, watching the dozens of workers as they continued adding furniture and other stuff to the kitchen and lounge room. The shattered glass had been cleaned up and replaced hours ago, about the same time that the sun had risen. Cole was still unconscious—sedated, apparently—with an IV feeding him some sort of high-calorie mixture that Borg and his medical expert had formulated. The medical person had said that he was going to be fine, though apparently they were going to start working on something that would make it so that Cole could get enough calories without having to down a buffet three times a day, which Zane had explained to Jay was one of the things that the scientists had done to him.

Not for the first time, Jay found himself grateful that Borg had so many resources. With the way the last thirty-six hours had been, it didn’t look like any of them—the “ex-experiments”—were going to be able to survive without them.

Jay sighed, tucking his hands under his armpits. The lightning was still sparking around them as it had been doing since Cole’s earthquake had woken him up that morning. Thankfully, the lightning hadn’t gotten worse than spreading up his arms, but now even his fidgeting couldn’t make the sparks around his hands go away. It wasn’t exactly horrible, but it did sting, and it meant that he had to keep his hands away from the material of the couch so that he didn’t start it on fire. At least the clothes that Borg had given him didn’t burn from electricity.

Borg had taken Kai and Nya to his office, presumably to give them the same talk that he’d given Jay and Cole last night. From what Jay had been able to make out of the pair, he thought that Nya would probably respond well, but he wasn’t sure about Kai. He obviously had a temper, and if what Zane had said last night meant that his power made his anger worse—well, things could very easily turn bad, in Jay’s mind.

There was a sudden dip of the couch cushions, and Jay turned to find that Zane had sat down next to him. The android was looking out at the workers, his eyes darting back and forth in a pattern that seemed to reveal that he was scanning for something, not just looking.

His curiosity piqued, Jay asked, “What’re you doing?”

Zane blinked, then looked over at Jay. “Why do you ask?”

Jay shrugged. “Just curious.” Currently, Jay kind of had mixed feelings for the android—yeah, he was pretty cool, both in personality and in the fact that he was an actual _android_ , but he’d also _tranqed_ _Cole_. True, if he hadn’t they probably would have all died, and that was the reason why Jay wasn’t mad at him for doing it—but still, somehow it felt like a betrayal. Being shot with a tranquilizer—for whatever reason—wasn’t exactly humanizing.

“I am analyzing the efficiency of the various work methods of the employees,” Zane said.

It was Jay’s turn to blink, though the answer was more or less what he’d expected. “Okay. Uh, why?”

Zane didn’t answer for a moment. Then, “I do not have an answer for that question.”

Jay thought about that for a second, then felt a smile creep onto his face. “Hang on, are you _bored?_ ”

Zane stared at him. “Define ‘bored’.”

“It means you have nothing you need to do so you’re free to do as you wish but you don’t have anything you want to do,” Jay explained. Then he internally winced. He’d started talking fast again, he couldn’t do that.

“I am ‘bored’, then,” Zane said, apparently unbothered by Jay talking at double speed. Which made sense. He _was_ technically a computer. A person-computer, but still with the intelligence of a computer.

“Have you ever tried air hockey?” Jay asked, standing. He was pretty sure he’d seen the workers set one up at the end of the lounge, so it should be enough out of the way that they wouldn’t be in the way while using it. “Hang on, of course you haven’t, you’ve only been physical for like a day and a quarter.” He grabbed Zane’s arm, pulling the android up. Zane briefly looked startled, but his expression shifted back to its default quickly enough. Seeing that, Jay decided that it was his new mission to get the android to smile.

It was only as he was starting up the air hockey table that Jay realized that his hands weren’t sparking anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So each of the boys have lost control of their power now, which is fun. Also the gang's together now!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning to have an entire chapter from Kai's point of view, but it's what happened, so here it is

“Kai—”

“No.”

“ _Kai_ —”

“I said _no_ , Nya!” Kai jerked away as his sister tried to grab his shoulder, pushing his way through the double doors into the waiting area outside of Borg’s office. He wished he could slam the door for emphasis, but the door opened inward, so he couldn’t. As it was, Nya continued after him.

“Kai!”

Kai rounded on his sister as his blood started heating. “I am doing my _best_ to keep my cool here, Nya, and my answer is _absolutely not!_ ”

Nya’s eyes widened in alarm, but she quickly replaced them with a look of determination. “That’s exactly _why_ we need this—why _you_ need this, especially!”

“I am _not_ going to be an experiment again,” Kai bit out.

“You’re not _going_ to be, you heard what Mr. Borg said!”

“I said _no_ , Nya.” Kai turned away from her, stalking to the elevator. Unfortunately his dramatic exit was ruined by the fact that he actually had to wait for an elevator to arrive.

There was silence, and for a moment Kai actually thought that Nya had gone back into the office.

She proved him wrong.

“So you’re going to abandon me?” Nya asked quietly.

Kai flinched. For the first time since escaping, his power did something different—it sputtered, jolting inside of him like it was flailing. Kai felt a lot of it shift to collect in his hands, so he glanced down.

Golden sparks were bursting from his fingers, raining down to the carpet to glow for a few more seconds before going out.

Kai took a deep, _definitely_ not shaky breath, balling his hands into fists. “Of course not,” he answered quietly. How could she—how could she even _ask_ that? He’d _never_ abandon her. Not like—

Kai diverted his thoughts, but thankfully Nya distracted him. Well, not so thankfully, considering what she actually said.

“If you leave,” Nya started. She sounded like she was going to cry, and Nya _never_ cried, not since she’d been half Kai’s height. “You’ll be abandoning me.” 

_No._ “No, Nya, I’d never—” Kai turned, losing track of his words when he saw that Nya _was_ crying. True, they were angry tears, but they were still tears. 

“Then don’t leave,” Nya asked, her voice pleading.

“Nya, I . . .” He _wouldn’t_ leave her. He wasn’t going to. But he couldn’t—he couldn’t _do_ this, not again. “Come with me,” he hopelessly countered. His power was still shifting inside of him, sputtering in one place as it flared in another. 

“We _need_ this,” Nya replied fiercely. “I’m staying, Kai.”

Kai closed his eyes, as if it could somehow change what his little sister had just said. But he knew that tone—it was the tone that Nya used when she was absolutely set on something, and no one, not even Kai would be able to persuade her otherwise.

Which meant that she was staying. Kai opened his eyes, crossing his arms as the fluctuations in his power got stronger. “Nya . . .”

“It’s _not_ going to be like before, Kai,” Nya said, stepping towards him. “Mr. Borg promised that.”

“And how do we know that we can trust him?” Kai countered, letting the anger seep into his voice. “It was _his_ company that did this to us in the first place, remember?”

The room wasn’t spinning, was it? Why did it feel like the room was spinning?

Nya opened her mouth, then closed it. “I—because he’s a good man, Kai!” she said defensively.

“And how do you know that?” Kai grit out. His head flared hot, then went cold as his hands heated again before cooling, the same thing happening over and over across his entire body.

The room was _definitely_ spinning.

“Well—” Nya stammered.

The next flare of heat in his head brought pain with it. Kai tried to muffle his pained grunt, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was—wait, was he on the floor? How had he ended up on the floor? And the room was still spinning. He didn’t like that.

_Kai!_

Nya was kneeling in front of him, but she sounded far away. Kai screwed his eyes shut, trying to make the room stop moving.

 _What’s wrong?_ The second voice was familiar. Kai felt like he should know who it belonged to, he’d heard it recently, but the room was still moving and he was hot and cold and it was hard to _think_. 

There were more words, but Kai couldn’t make them out.

Someone was touching him, moving him—that made the room spin worse and he groaned, curling in on himself—and then it felt like someone was removing his shirt. Then something small and cold touched his shoulder, and he jerked away—which made the moving worse again.

 _Stay still, big brother._ It was Nya’s voice, closer but still too far away. Kai did his best to listen, but he couldn’t keep himself from flinching when the cold thing brushed against his skin again.

The cold thing ran from his shoulder down along his arm in squiggles, then did the same with his other arm. Kai’s power—the heat—followed it, sticking to wherever the cold thing touched. By the time the cold thing traced a circle across his chest, Kai was warmer, his power not moving so much or leaving cold spots. The room was starting to move slower too.

Eventually everything went still. Kai shifted, turning his head a little—he was laying on something. Nya’s lap?

“Kai?” Nya asked. Kai reflexively dissected her tone—worried, hopeful, scared.

Kai forced his eyes open, squinting at the bright overhead lights. Nya was looking down at him from an angle that confirmed that his head was on her lap. 

“Wha’ happened?” Kai mumbled. That had been . . . weird. And that was saying something, considering what he’d been through in the last year.

Nya glanced at something out of Kai’s line of sight, biting her lip.

“Your emotions destabilized your power even further than it already was, which is somewhat concerning,” the second voice from before said.

Borg.

Instantly Kai tried to push himself up into a sitting position, halfway succeeding before the room started to swim. He paused, closing his eyes and resting his head against his sister’s chest.

“You collapsed, Kai,” Nya said. “Mr. Borg had something that helped.”

That’s probably what the cold thing was, then. The room still, Kai finished pushing himself up and glanced down at himself.

Squiggles. There were little red squiggles painted on him, tracing down each arm and circling his chest. Actually, _glowing_ red squiggles. “Um. What.”

“They’re runes of some sort.” 

Kai finally looked at Borg, and found to his surprise that the inventor was sitting on the ground, his legs somewhat awkwardly twisted out to one side. He held a paintbrush in one hand, specks of non-glowing white paint scattered across his forearms.

“Runes?” Kai asked.

Borg nudged his glasses farther up his nose with the back of one finger. “Yes, they’re meant to help stabilize your power some, at least temporarily, and going by the fact that they’re glowing and that you’ve seemed to recover, I’d say that they work.”

Kai stared at him. A dozen questions ran through his mind, but he chose the most pressing one to ask. “Where’d you learn about that?” He did nothing to hide his suspicion.

“ _Kai_ ,” Nya hissed disapprovingly. 

“It is a valid question, Miss Smith,” Borg said lightly. Then he fixed his gaze on Kai. “To answer your question, I learned about it during my research this morning.”

‘This morning’? But Borg had been busy talking with the doctor-person and then the cleanup crew and then the other workers, then he’d brought Nya and Kai down here. He _wouldn’t_ have been able to do research—

It was then that Kai noticed the bags underneath the inventor’s eyes.

“Have you been researching or whatever _all night?_ ” Kai blurted.

“Of course,” Borg said, looking puzzled. “I need to learn as much as I can as quickly as possible so I can help each of you.”

“You should still take care of yourself,” Nya interjected. 

Borg’s expression hardened. “I’ll worry about me after I take care of each of you. It’s the least I owe you after what I, albeit unknowingly, _allowed_ to happen.”

Borg had apologized—several times—during his explanation of what he wanted to do, back in his office, but Kai hadn’t really believed that the apologies could be sincere. Until now, at least. A lifetime of distrusting people had taught Kai to recognize when someone had a secondary—or ulterior—motive, and Borg had visibly had one underneath the “caring and concern”. But he’d just revealed what that secondary motive was: guilt. The inventor blamed himself for what had happened to them, even though—if what he said could be believed—it wasn’t actually his fault.

“You know, I thought you were supposed to be smart,” Kai said.

A mixed look of surprise and confusion flashed across Borg’s face. “I’m sorry?”

“ _Kai!_ ” Nya exclaimed, sounding mortified.

Kai rolled his eyes, not caring that his little sister couldn’t actually see them from her position behind him. “If you don’t take care of yourself first, you’re not going to be able to take care of us. Obviously.”

Borg blinked, then pushed his glasses up his face again. “I see.”

“Us?” Nya asked, trying and failing to disguise the hope in her voice.

Kai sighed. Here goes nothing. “Yeah, us. You two have convinced me.” 

Nya squealed, then rammed into Kai’s back, wrapping her arms around him. Kai grunted in surprise, grimacing as the room started swaying again. “Easy there, sis.”

“Sorry,” Nya said, loosening her hold slightly.

“And . . . thank you,” Kai added, directing it at Borg. “For this.” He gestured at the runes.

“Of course,” Borg replied, smiling. “I’m glad it helped.” After a moment, he asked, “Miss Smith, if you wouldn’t mind . . . ?”

Kai didn’t understand what he meant until Nya stood and helped Borg back into his wheelchair, which was only a foot or so behind him. The inventor arranged his legs, then accepted the glass jar of paint from Nya when she retrieved it from the ground.

“Just ‘Nya’ is fine, you know,” Nya said.

“Nya it will be, then,” Borg replied. He turned to Kai. “Do you have a preference for how I address you?”

Kai shrugged. “You can call me Kai if I can know your first name.”

Nya facepalmed as Borg’s eyebrows rose in amusement.

“What?” Kai asked, suddenly self-conscious. 

“His first name is Cyrus, Kai,” Nya said. “Literally everyone knows that.”

Oh. “I knew that,” Kai insisted, climbing to his feet. The room started to spin again, though, and he staggered—thankfully Nya caught him, propping him up.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Kai stated, desperate to keep at least some of his pride intact. Nya looked at him skeptically, and while Borg was currently facing away, maneuvering his wheelchair to better fit the space, Kai could _swear_ that the inventor was trying not to laugh.

Kai scowled, but for once there wasn’t any heat in it. As Nya snagged his shirt with her foot, kicking it into the air to grab it with her free hand, a question popped into Kai’s head. “Why didn’t you put this on the others?” he asked. “It could’ve prevented the earthquake.”

“Well, for one, the paint wasn’t ready until a few hours ago, _after_ the earthquake,” Borg answered. “It’s a very particular concoction. And for two, while it will definitely help when things get bad, as far as I understand it works like a painkiller: effective and useful in the right situations, but you don’t want to become dependent on it.”

Huh. That made sense.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, it seems that I should get some rest,” Borg said politely. “I’d suggest that both of you get some as well.” He wheeled back into his office, the door closing softly behind him.

Nya started guiding Kai towards the elevator, but Kai made them stop.

“What is it?” Nya asked, sounding concerned.

“Can we put my shirt back on?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! 2021 at last!


	11. Chapter 11

Air hockey had been much more engaging than Zane had theorized that it was going to be—in fact, he might even go so far to say that he “liked” it. Jay Walker made an excellent opponent, employing the same mathematical tactics that Zane himself had quickly learned to use—calculating angles and force to execute the best moves. Initially Jay Walker had had “the upper hand”, having been the far more experienced player, but Zane had learned quickly, and within minutes they were evenly matched; despite the fact that Zane could calculate the exact path of Jay Walker’s shots the instant he made them, his reflexes were not developed enough to prevent the majority of them from slipping into the goal. The only counter Zane had was to score more goals than Jay Walker did, but the teenager possessed excellent reflexes and was able to prevent him from scoring enough times to keep the score even.

It was only after several minutes that Zane realized that a human body should not be capable of responding or moving as fast as Jay Walker was doing. Despite his reflexes not being finely developed, Zane’s form was still mechanical and his computing speed was near-instantaneous. Yet Jay Walker managed to match both Zane’s mental and physical speed, often even surpassing the latter.

The obvious conclusion was that the enhanced speed was a result of the experiments that Jay Walker had been forced through. However, Zane wondered if the teenager knew of it; Zane had not witnessed him moving faster than average at any point previously, and currently the teenager was completely focused on the game, unable to run a second line of reasoning as Zane was to compare his actions to others’.

As their playing time neared a quarter an hour, Jay Walker skewed a shot—skewed it so badly that the puck ended up slipping into his own goal, scoring Zane a point. For a moment Jay Walker merely stood, apparently stunned, then grumbled under his breath with furrowed brows as he retrieved the puck from the collection point in the side of the table.

Gameplay resumed, but Zane was quick to observe that Jay Walker’s blocks were rapidly becoming less effective. Within minutes Zane was scoring twice the amount that he was previously. Jay Walker started biting his lip, visibly attempting to close the gap in scores that had formed, but his shots were becoming less effective as well.

It was almost exactly after twenty minutes of playing time that one of Jay Walker’s shots sent the puck over the wall of the table and clattering to the floor. The teenager cursed, ducking under the air hockey table to retrieve the item—but when Jay Walker stood again, he didn’t have the puck. Instead he was holding his hands out in front of him, staring at them with wide eyes.

They were trembling. Quite severely, too, if Zane’s comparison of them to similar cases he had observed in the past was accurate.

“What . . .” Jay Walker alternatively flexed his hands and balled them into fists, but the motions seemed to only make the trembling worse. 

An unfamiliar sensation formed inside of Zane, but before he could register it he was moving, rounding the table to gently grasp one of the teenager’s hands. Jay Walker looked up at him in surprise, but Zane focused on his hand, carefully examining the way it shook. It was obviously the reason behind the sudden decrease in the quality of Jay Walker’s shots and blocks.

“What—what is it?” Jay Walker asked, his voice a higher pitch than usual. “Do you know what’s wrong?”

Zane glanced at the teenager’s face, attempting to read his expression. He looked . . . scared.

There was a sharp burst of input on one of Zane’s fingers and he returned his attention to the teenager’s hands. They were sparking.

“You need to calm,” Zane said evenly, recalling his past observations to locate a strategy that would help him do so. “Focus on me. Has this happened before?”

“I—no,” Jay Walker stammered. “I mean the lightning has of course, but the—the shaking is new.” He took a deep breath, then started tapping the fingers of the hand that Zane wasn’t examining against each other in a pattern—index tapping thumb, then middle tapping thumb, then the ring finger and pinky then back up the row. Due to the shaking, he visibly had to concentrate to execute the motions correctly, and the sparking faded.

The sensation inside of Zane increased, but Zane paid it no attention, continuing to focus on Jay Walker. Zane recalled all of the data he had collected on the subject in the past, comparing the variables to the various causes of hand tremors he knew of.

“Do your hands hurt?” Zane asked.

Jay Walker took a moment to respond. “No. They’re just . . . shaking.” Then he swore under his breath, and Zane looked to see that Jay Walker’s middle finger had completely missed his thumb in the current wave of tapping. His hand was shaking much more severely than before—and much more than the one that Zane was examining, which had actually started to calm.

“Essential tremor,” Zane concluded.

“What?” Jay Walker asked, looking up at him.

“What you are experiencing seems most similar to essential tremors,” Zane explained. “They are tremors that are triggered and exacerbated by physical activity, although the exact cause as to why such a thing occurs is currently unknown. Keeping your hands at rest should still them.” Zane released Jay Walker’s hand.

“Oh. Okay.” After a moment Jay Walker folded his arms. “So just . . . keep them still?”

“Correct.” When Jay Walker continued tapping one finger, Zane added, “Let your hands spark if needed. As long as your power doesn’t escalate from there, everything will be fine.”

Jay Walker took a deep breath, then nodded. The sparks reappeared around his hands the instant he stopped tapping, the lightning’s patterns of motion even more erratic due to the tremors.

“Is this going to keep happening?” Jay Walker asked. “Whenever I use my hands? You said that using them is what started this, right?”

Zane analyzed. “I do not know if it will occur again. Due to the experiments you were forced through, your biology is drastically different to that of a typical human’s. I do not know enough to make a sound conclusion.”

The sparks around Jay Walker’s hands got larger for a moment before returning to the size that they were before as Jay Walker took another large breath. “Right. Okay.” His voice was still a higher pitch than it usually was.

Zane analyzed, then hesitated. All of the relevant data had been discussed, but the sensation inside of him was urging him to say something further. But what, exactly?

“I am sure that Cyrus Borg will be able to figure everything out,” Zane found himself saying. “Even if the tremors continue to occur, I am positive that he will be able to help.”

For a moment Zane was confused as to why, exactly, he’d said those things. They hadn’t been completely true—although they hadn’t been lies, either—and served no analytical purpose. But somehow the sensation he was experiencing was making him conclude that it had been the correct thing to say.

And the reason for that quickly became apparent. Jay Walker visibly relaxed, the sparks around his hands flickering out. “Thanks, Zane,” he said softly.

Unsure of how to respond, Zane nodded. Briefly analyzing activities that Jay Walker could engage in without requiring the use of his hands, Zane added, “I would suggest making use of the television for the time being. I believe that it is set up.”

Jay Walker looked over the rest of the lounge, which was now fully set up and lacking the employees that had been working minutes prior. He started to smile. “Awesome.”

As Jay Walker settled on the couch in front of the 72” television, Zane left the lounge. He glanced over at Cole Brookstone as he made his way to his bedroom. The dark-haired teenager was still unconscious, the screen to the left of the bed he was in displaying his vitals. 

The sensation inside of Zane shifted, changing to add something. It was then that Zane was able to identify it for what it was: concern. Concern for Jay Walker, and now concern for Cole Brookstone. Concern for Kai Smith and Nya Smith as well, Zane realized as he analyzed the emotion. So much had been inflicted on them by the scientists— _too_ much had been inflicted on them. And it seemed that some of the results of the experiments were only now beginning to manifest, if Jay’s tremors were to be considered.

Closing his bedroom door behind him, Zane picked up the digital pad that Cyrus Borg had given him. Turning the device on, Zane opened two different features: the public internet and the files stored on Cyrus Borg’s personal network. Choosing the former first, Zane started researching basic medical knowledge on humans. The only reason he’d known enough to conclude what Jay Walker had been experiencing had been due to his curiosity about how humans could lose control of muscles they usually had voluntary control over years ago and the research he’d done at that point; if he was going to be able to assist with any other issues that undoubtedly would arise, he needed to know more.

Zane accessed several medical websites, leaving each open in a separate tab. Then Zane accessed the most recent files added to Cyrus Borg’s personal server—one of the inventor’s assistants had been tasked on scanning the large quantity of analog information into a digital format. While Zane was aware that there was still much to be uploaded, there was already a significant amount of data on all four experiments on the server.

Zane sat down on his bed and started reading.

*****

Jay flicked between channels. Chick flick. Chick flick. End of the world thriller, no thank you. Zombie apocalypse, no thanks. Soap opera, definitely not. Nature documentary, meh. Another chick flick, though this one looked more romcom-y. Jay watched a few minutes of it before switching to the next channel—he didn’t have anything against chick flicks like most guys did, thanks to his parents, but Jay really wasn’t in the mood for gushy stuff right now. 

The next channel was some sort of game show that Jay didn’t recognize. It looked somewhat stupid, but hey, it involved trivia, so he might as well watch. It was always fun seeing how much faster he could get the right answer than the contestants, and it was better than nothing now that the action sci-fi movie he’d been watching was over.

“I can still _walk_ , Nya,” someone said in exasperation. Jay turned, bouncing onto his knees so he could see better over the back of the couch. It was the fire guy and the water girl, uh—Kai, right? And Nya. Which was what Kai had just said, so Jay knew that he had that one right. Kai was walking slowly, using the glass wall to hold himself up while a worried-looking Nya hovered next to him. Kai glared at his sister in exasperation, an expression that was emphasized by his spiky hair—how did someone even _have_ hair that spiky—and the fact that there was some sort of glowing line running down his arms from under his bright red t-shirt. That last part was new, right?

Jay pushed himself up off of the couch, then flinched, glancing at his hands. They’d stopped shaking a while back, but he was still worried that it’d happen again. True, he’d been able to get through about fifteen minutes of playing air hockey with Zane—which had been _awesome_ —before they’d started shaking, but still, you could never know.

Jay made his way out to the common area, which now had four couches arranged around a large rug and a coffee table in the very center of it. Kai was still leaning against the glass that divided the kitchen from the common area, but now Nya was chastising him.

“Mr. Borg _said_ that you should get some rest,” Nya scolded.

“But that’s boring,” Kai grumbled. “And I don’t exactly _have_ anywhere to “rest” anyways.”

“Choose a bedroom, then,” Jay suggested as he approached them. Both siblings started, Nya turning so that Jay was no longer behind her.

“A bedroom?” Kai asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Jay said, very pointedly ignoring the blush that was heating his cheeks. _Way to make a good first impression, Jay, jumping into their conversation was a_ great _idea._ He also very pointedly ignored the bolt of lightning that darted around one hand. “That one’s Zane’s,” he said, pointing to the bedroom on the very left, closest to the kitchen. “The one next to it is Cole’s, and then mine, and then the other three are empty, and that’s the bathroom at the end if you were wondering. You can take your pick.” A thought occurred to him, and he blushed even more. “Uh, that’s assuming that you’re staying?”

The siblings glanced at each other. 

“We’re staying,” Nya confirmed.

Kai nodded, scanning the row of rooms. “Who’s Zane?” he asked. “Borg talked about you and, uh, earthquake-guy—”

“His name is Cole,” Nya supplied in exasperation.

“—and Cole,” Kai amended, “but he didn’t say anything about someone else.”

That kind of made sense, in a way. Zane wasn’t actually an experiment, which is why he probably didn’t come up in conversation, however, he _was_ staying here—Jay briefly wondered _why_ Zane was staying here, then remembered that oh yeah, he was an AI who was turned android like a day and a half ago—it wasn’t like he had somewhere else to go.

“Zane’s the guy with white hair. And a tranq gun,” Jay added for distinction. 

“He’s staying _here?_ ” Kai exclaimed.

“It’s not like he has anywhere else to go,” Jay defended him. Yeah, the android had tranqed Cole—and Kai—but it was necessary, and he _had_ just helped him figure out what was wrong with his hands. Sort of. Either way he’d helped, during which time Jay could have sworn that the android was actually _concerned_ about him. _Could_ Zane feel concern? Could Zane feel emotions at all? Jay had noticed that he could be surprised, but that wasn’t exactly a full emotion if it was merely a reaction to the unexpected, and Zane was technically a computer, so of course he’d react when something happened that he didn’t expect.

“What do you mean, he doesn’t have anywhere else to go?” Nya asked, sounding curious.

Oh, yeah, he was in the middle of a conversation. Maybe _not_ the best time to spiral into his head. “Zane’s an android.” Wait, crap, he should have made sure that Zane was okay with him telling them that. Well, it was too late now. “Well, he _was_ an AI that lived in the internet first, but he got downloaded into his mechanical body about the same time we all escaped the facilities.” Jay started picking at the cuff of his jacket again, waiting for them to respond.

“He’s a _what_ now?” Kai asked, looking confused.

“He’s a robot, Kai,” Nya explained excitedly. “A person-robot though. Right?” She looked to Jay for confirmation.

“Yep,” Jay confirmed. “He’s nice.”

“He _shot_ me,” Kai exclaimed.

Jay flinched. “Only to save you and Nya. The warehouse was going to burn down on you.” So, maybe he didn’t know if that last bit was true, but it was better than telling Kai that Zane had sedated him to keep him from killing his sister directly.

Kai deflated a bit. “Right. I forgot about that.”

“How did you _forget?_ ” Nya asked skeptically, raising her eyebrows at her brother.

Kai shrugged.

There was an awkward silence for a moment.

“Right,” Nya said, clapping her hands together. “I’m gonna claim the bedroom at the other end. No offense to you boys, but a girl’s gotta have some space. Which means that you are _not_ taking the bedroom next to me, Kai,” she said, glaring at him.

Kai rolled his eyes. “Alright, fine. Guess that means I’m by you, sparky.”

“Wha—” Jay sputtered at the nickname. Absolutely _not_ , thank you! “If you’re gonna call me sparky, I’m gonna call you spikey!” he countered.

Kai stared at him in confusion until Nya said, giggling, “Because of your hair, idiot.”

It was Kai’s turn to sputter. “Excuse you, my hair is _fabulous!_ ” Kai exclaimed.

“You look like a porcupine,” Jay shot back.

The look of pure offense on Kai’s face was _priceless_. Jay burst into laughter, doubling over. Nya sniggered, and Kai shot her a betrayed expression, which sent her from sniggering into full-blown laughter.

“Nya!” Kai cried in disbelief. “You’re supposed to be on _my_ side!”

“You _do_ , though!” Nya managed through her laughs.

Something flickered across Kai’s face, too fast for Jay to read. Nya seemed to catch it, though, and dialed down her laughter. “It suits you, though,” she said, reaching up to ruffle her brother’s hair.

Kai lightly smacked her hand away, but now it was obvious that he was trying not to smile.

“I think there’s some cards around here, if you want to play,” Jay offered. He wasn’t sure exactly _where_ they were, but Borg had said that there’d be some when Cole had requested it last night. The workers were long since gone, so they had to be around here somewhere.

“Sounds good to me,” Nya said happily.

Kai shrugged. “As long as we don’t play Hearts.”

“Hearts it is, then!” Nya proclaimed, making Jay grin. He liked her.

“ _Nya!_ ”


	12. Chapter 12

Cole felt . . . weird. Heavy. He could tell that he was laying on something soft, a bed, probably, and there was something going on with his arms. There was light pressing through his eyelids, and he could hear something, but he couldn’t tell what. After a moment he realized that he was hearing _multiple_ things—multiple _people_ , talking and laughing. He couldn’t make out the words, though

Opening his eyes was harder than it should have been. Cole instantly squinted, grunting as the light sent daggers of pain through his head. He didn’t recognize the part of the room he could see from the position he was laying in, which sent needles of anxiety through his chest. Where was he?

Using his arms, Cole struggled to push himself up. Everything felt half-numb, his hands tingling in a weird way that definitely wasn’t normal.

After what felt like forever, Cole managed to prop himself up enough to see around him. It took him a few moments to realize that he was in the infirmary. He was still in the pajamas Mr. Borg had given him, as far as he could tell (a blanket was covering his legs), and an IV as well as several wire-things that were probably monitoring his vitals were attached to his arms. 

There was no one else in the infirmary, but thanks to the glass divider, Cole could see the source of the voices he was hearing. Jay, a girl Cole didn’t recognize, and the guy who’d attacked Cole were sitting around a coffee table in the middle of the common area, playing a card game. Jay and the girl seemed to be having fun while the guy who’d attacked Cole looked to be bemoaning his existence. Cole couldn’t make out what they were saying, their voices making their way to him from the open glass door at the end of the room, but once he figured out whose voice was whose—which wasn’t that hard, they were pretty different—he guessed that the guy who’d attacked him was losing. Badly. After all, it sounded like he was _actually_ bemoaning his existence.

It took several long moments for Cole to realize that he probably shouldn’t be so chill about the fact that the guy who’d attacked him was _right there_ , but his head felt as weird as the rest of his body, his thoughts taking way too long to form. Maybe it was a good thing, though. The spiky-haired guy _had_ thought that Cole had captured him, which was a valid reason for attacking him, even if he’d been wrong. At least, that’s what Cole thought he remembered happening. The main thing he could recall was the desperate hunger, and then after that . . . 

What had happened?

Dread started to pool in Cole’s stomach. It felt worse than normal, because his stomach also felt hollow—not hungry like before, exactly, but completely empty. The combined effect made Cole mildly nauseous, and he grimaced.

There was a sudden exclamation from the girl, the words almost loud enough for Cole to make out. He blinked to find that she was standing, her gaze focused on _him_ as Jay and the spiky-haired guy turned. Then Jay was scrambling off the couch, cards forgotten.

“Cole!” Jay exclaimed as he skidded into the infirmary. “You’re awake! How do you feel? Are you okay? Do you need anything? I can go get Borg if you want—”

“I’m okay, Jay,” Cole replied. It was harder to talk than normal, but thankfully his words weren’t slurred. “I think. What happened?”

Jay winced as he climbed up to kneel on the end of the bed. “Uh, what’s the last thing you remember?”

That . . . didn’t seem good. Cole glanced around, but if something had happened, any evidence of it had been erased. 

“I remember him,” Cole said, nodding at the spiky-haired guy. He and the girl had come into the infirmary behind Jay, though they hovered back a few feet. The girl seemed to simply be giving him space, her expression curious and concerned, but the guy looked embarrassed, shifting his weight back and forth awkwardly.

Spiky-haired guy cleared his throat. “Uh, sorry about that.”

Cole blinked at him. He knew he should respond, but his slower-than-normal brain wasn’t coming up with anything to say. Instead he found himself staring at some sort of symbols that ran up the guy’s arms in what looked like red paint, absently wondering what they were for. And . . . were they glowing?

Wait. Cole felt like he knew the guy’s name, too. Didn’t he know his name?

“Anything else you remember?” Jay prompted.

“I needed to eat,” Cole answered. “But . . . everything after that gets fuzzy.” Why was it so hard to think?

“You should not be awake.”

Cole started. When had Zane gotten here? The android was walking up behind the spiky-haired guy and the girl, who both jumped at his words, spinning. Spiky-haired guy backed away from him a few steps, his arms raising, before he paused and crossed them over his chest.

“Why shouldn’t he be?” Jay asked, frowning. “Isn’t it a good thing?”

“It is,” Zane replied. He rounded the bed Cole was in, bending over to peer at the screen displaying Cole’s vitals. “But with the amount of sedative that is being administered to him, it should not be possible for him to be conscious.”

 _Sedative?!_ “Why am I being sedated?!” Cole asked, alarmed. “What happened?!”

“Uhhhhhh,” Jay said, drawing the word out. “You kinda caused an earthquake. But everything’s fine! You just broke a lot of glass.”

 _An earthquake._ Cole groaned, sagging back against the bed. He _knew_ how powerful his earthquakes could be—how many people an earthquake could hurt. As much as he appreciated Jay’s assurances, Cole was betting that he didn’t actually know much about the damage he’d caused.

Cole turned his head to look at Zane. The android was adjusting something that Cole couldn’t see, his bright grey—almost metallic, Cole realized—eyes narrowed in focus. After a moment, however, he glanced at Cole, and his expression shifted to one of . . . concern? 

“The most severe casualty was a broken arm,” Zane reported. “Besides that, there were several less severe injuries, the most numerous being small cuts—Jay Walker was correct in stating that the earthquake you caused shattered quite a fair amount of glass.”

Oh. That wasn’t so bad. Still not the greatest, but not terrible.

“‘Jay Walker’?” Jay parroted, looking at Zane.

Zane turned to him, but didn’t say anything, looking confused.

“You used his full name,” the girl explained.

Zane continued to look at them blankly for a long moment, then pivoted and turned a valve-thing on Cole’s IV. “I am going to prepare a new solution without the sedatives,” he announced.

Spiky-haired guy frowned. “A new one? What else is in there?”

“Calories,” Jay answered. “Because of, uh, y’know what, his metabolism is really fast. He has to have a lot of calories to keep up with it.”

“What happens if he doesn’t?” spiky-haired guy asked.

The girl immediately elbowed him in the ribs. “Why don’t you take a guess?”

Spiky-haired guy grunted when her arm made contact, then stared at her blankly. After a long moment it seemed to click. “Oh.”

Cole closed his eyes. He probably should know the conclusion that the guy had gotten to, but his head was still too foggy for him to think. He really hoped that what he was feeling was just the sedatives, and not some sort of injury—his power had hurt him before, and it had _not_ been fun to recover from.

There was a quiet, “Let’s give him some space, guys,” from the girl.

“He’s gonna be okay, right?” Jay asked, sounding farther away. 

Cole was confused as to who Jay was asking until Zane answered, “He will be fine.”

It went quiet as they left, their voices returning to murmurs until various soft sounds coming from Zane’s direction was the main thing Cole could hear.

A while later something gently touched Cole’s shoulder. He opened his eyes to find Zane standing over him, his expression gentle.

“The sedatives should wear off within twenty minutes,” Zane said softly. “If you wish to join the others at that point, you may, but I’d advise continuing to use the IV until Cyrus Borg can determine the next course of action.”

Cole let his eyes fall shut again. “Thanks, Zane.” A question bubbled into his mind and he mumbled, “Where’d you learn how to do this, anyway?”

There was a pause. “I have been researching.”

“Mmm.” Cole wasn’t exactly sure what he’d been trying to say, but he hoped that whatever it was had gotten across.

*****

“ _Nya!_ ” Kai whined, scowling at her. After a moment he chucked his cards at her face, but Nya didn’t care. She was too busy laughing, twirling the queen of hearts between her fingers—Kai had tried to shoot the moon, which would have set his ridiculously high number of losing points back to zero, but to do that he’d needed to get _all_ of the point cards. He’d actually thought he’d done it, too, at least until he’d started counting up his point cards.

“When’d you take that?” Cole asked, his eyes dancing in amusement. He was sitting on the couch across from her and Kai, next to Jay, his IV tube trailing up to the bag on the stand that had been moved to right behind the couch.

“I broke hearts with it,” Jay answered for her, grinning. Kai glared at him.

“‘Broke hearts’?” Zane asked, looking up from his tablet. The android had curled on one of the armchairs that sat in front of the narrower ends of the coffee table, where the “head of the house” would usually sit if the couches and armchairs had been kitchen chairs and the coffee table a kitchen table. He’d opted out of playing with them when they’d offered, apparently needing to do research on something. At Jay and Cole’s insistence, though, he’d compromised by choosing the armchair to do his work instead of going back to his room. Since then he’d mostly been absorbed in whatever he was reading, but every once and a while he’d ask a question, usually about the game.

Nya had initially thought that it’d take a bit for her to get used to being around an actual _android_ , but despite his more robotic quirks, Nya had actually adapted to his presence rather quickly. “That’s what sluffing the first hearts card of the round is called,” she explained. Jay had defined ‘sluffing’ for him earlier, so she continued, “Hearts can’t be played as a starter card until a hearts card has been sluffed, or until ‘hearts have been broken’.”

Zane frowned slightly, but Cole jumped in, anticipating his next question. “We have no idea why it’s called ‘breaking hearts’,” he said. “It’s probably just a play on words.”

“You’re the one with internet access if you want to look it up,” Kai added dryly.

Zane returned his attention to his tablet, though Nya couldn’t tell if he was looking up the answer or if he’d returned to his research. 

Nya elbowed her brother.

“ _Ow_ —what?” Kai asked.

“Be nice,” Nya admonished. She thought it was ridiculous, him holding a grudge against Zane, but he wouldn’t be Kai if he didn’t take offense to his pride being wounded. Which, apparently, getting shot by a tranq gun had done.

Kai rolled his eyes. “Fine. Can we play something else now?”

Nya was tempted to refuse, just to annoy him, but they _had_ been playing Hearts for over an hour. “Sure, if they don’t mind,” she said, nodding to Cole and Jay.

Cole shrugged. “I’m good with whatever.”

“What should we play next, though?” Jay asked, tilting his head slightly. “Most of the games I know are two-player.”

“We could play Mow—” Kai started to suggest.

Nya cut him off with a sharp “ _No_.” Yeah, no way. 

“Why not?” Kai asked.

“Because you abuse that game to no end!” Nya replied.

“No I don’t!”

“You made me pay you my life’s savings last time, Kai.” Nya deadpanned.

“I gave it back afterwards!”

“ _After_ you covered it in glitter!” Nya hadn’t been able to get rid of the cursed sparkles for _weeks_ —it had gotten _everywhere_ , from in her clothes to in her machine shop to in her _cereal_.

Kai winced. “I didn’t think it’d be that bad!” he protested defensively.

Nya glared at him. The next time she went shopping, he was _so_ getting a bottle of glitter in his bed.

Cole had a fist over his mouth, muffling his laughter. Jay’s expression was stuck between horrified and amused, his eyes darting back and forth between Nya and her brother like he was watching a tennis match.

Kai shrunk back under Nya’s glare, as he should. He’d learned a _long_ time ago what that expression meant, as he should have. “I’m sorry!” he yelped.

“You used _glitter_ ,” Jay pointed out. “‘Sorry’ isn’t good enough to pay for that.”

Kai paled. Nya gave him her most wicked grin, and he squeaked before slapping a hand over his mouth, his cheeks going red.

“How about we play Speed?” Cole interrupted, sounding like he was barely managing not to laugh.

“I thought that was a two-player game,” Jay said, confused.

“You can modify it,” Cole said, leaning forward to gather the cards. “Here, I’ll show you.”

Cole set up the game, explaining how to play as he went. Nya noticed that Zane looked up from his tablet, listening to Cole’s explanation intently. He didn’t say anything, though.

The game was actually pretty fun, though Nya ended up with bruised knuckles rather quickly as they all kept accidentally bashing their hands against each other. Jay quickly proved to be the best, slapping his cards into place impressively fast. Cole was the slowest, though he didn’t seem to mind much, switching tactics instead to try to prevent Jay from getting his cards down. As had happened so many times, Nya found herself primarily competing against her brother—and there was _no_ way she was going to let him beat her.

Jay won, which wasn’t a surprise, but Nya quickly followed him into second place—beating Kai by two cards.

“Hah!” Nya crowed, pumping her fist in the air.

Kai groaned. “Why does the universe hate me.”

Cole snickered. “Maybe you’re just bad at cards.”

“Hey, I still beat _you_.”

“Maybe I _let_ you beat me.”

Nya turned to Jay as they bantered, expecting to see him smiling about his victory—but he wasn’t. Instead he was staring down at his hands, his eyes wide.

They were shaking.

Jay curled his hands into fists, tucking them under his arms. He looked up—and froze as he saw Nya watching him. After a long moment he ducked his head, his cheeks going red.

Nya glanced around, checking to see if the others had noticed. Cole and Kai were still teasing each other, but Zane’s gaze was fixed on Jay. After a moment his attention shifted to her, though, as if the android sensed her looking at him.

Nya pointedly glanced at Jay, furrowing her brows as she looked back at the android, wordlessly asking her question.

Zane blinked at her, then looked down at his tablet, typing something out. He turned the screen, briefly allowing her to read what he’d written: _He needs to minimize using his hands until Cyrus Borg can determine what is wrong._

Zane turned the screen back to him just as Jay looked up. He tilted his head at the android, then turned to Nya, his expression questioning. Nya sent him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

“So are we going again?” Kai asked, his bickering with Cole apparently over. He was sulking, his arms crossed over his chest, and Cole was grinning like the cheshire cat. Obviously, the dark-haired boy had won.

“Nah,” Nya said as a brief look of panic crossed Jay’s face. “I’m starving. There’s something to eat around here, right?”

“I think there’s stuff in the kitchen,” Jay said.

“I second Nya’s idea. Food sounds amazing,” Cole said, standing. He glared down at his IV tube in obvious annoyance when it tugged on his arm as he moved.

“I’m good with that,” Kai agreed eagerly, also standing. Nya rolled her eyes. He obviously just didn’t want to keep getting beaten.

“C’mon, Zane,” Cole said. 

The android looked up. “I do not require nourishment.”

Cole shrugged. “So? You can still eat, right? And taste things?”

Zane blinked. “I can.”

“And how many things have you tried?” Cole asked.

Zane hesitated. “I have experienced chocolate.”

They all waited for him to say more, but when that was all, Jay exclaimed, “You’ve _never_ had anything else?”

“I have not.”

Kai was staring at the android, his face nearly blank—it was his ‘thinking’ expression. “Right,” he finally said. “That’s just wrong, so we’re gonna change that.”

Zane let out a small noise of alarm as Kai dragged him to feet, pulling him towards the kitchen. Cole followed them, awkwardly maneuvering his IV.

“You coming?” Nya asked Jay kindly.

He gave her a tight smile, carefully standing. “Yeah.”

Nya rounded the coffee table and pulled him into a quick hug. He went rigid at first, but he relaxed before Nya pulled away. Nya looked up at him—only slightly up, he was barely an inch taller than her—with a smile. “Everything’s going to be okay,” she said confidently. They were safe now, and Cyrus Borg was a genius—even though what had been done to them couldn’t be reversed, they were going to get better.

Hesitantly, Jay smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm currently planning for the Jaya relationship to be platonic for the length of the fic, but depending on where things go that might change. *shrugs*


	13. Chapter 13

Zane sat at the kitchen counter, attempting to process the massive amount of new data that he’d just received. Kai Smith and Cole Brookstone had taken him on a “tour” of every type of food that Cyrus Borg had stocked the kitchen with, a variety that ranged from bananas to chips to sliced ham to vanilla wafer cookies to jalapeno peppers. Zane had attempted to catalogue the new inputs—the new “tastes”—as he had experienced them, but more often than not he had gotten too distracted by the flavors to do so. Kai Smith and Cole Brookstone had assisted with the cataloging, in a way, informing him which flavors were “spicy”, which were “salty”, and which were “sweet” and “sour” and “bitter”. Zane had been able to identify without their assistance that chocolate fell into the “sweet” category, although when he’d voiced as much to the others they’d informed him that there were varieties of chocolate that were “bitter” as well. Foods appeared to be like that, having varieties of each type of an already massive variety of foods. When the others had questioned him, Zane had identified that he “liked” “sweet” and “salty” foods, and that he only “disliked” “bitter” foods. The teenagers had _then_ informed him that his opinion may vary from dish to dish, as different combinations of the categories combined with various flavors could produce different results.

It . . . was a lot. 

Jay Walker had been the one to first observe that Zane was struggling to process all of the new data, and with Nya Smith’s assistance he had convinced the others to give Zane some “space”. Kai Smith and Cole Brookstone had apologized for overwhelming him, then had proceeded to make dishes for themselves, Jay Walker and Nya Smith joining in. It was easy to observe that it was a task that all of the teenagers were used to, although each had a different level of skill when it came to actually preparing each dish. Kai Smith and Nya Smith worked together to make their dishes efficiently, Nya Smith taking the task of preparing sides while Kai Smith constructed sandwiches. Kai Smith, for reasons unknown, made his own sandwich less efficiently than he did his sister’s, an event which caused Nya Smith to roll her eyes. Jay Walker prepared himself an “omelette” with a moderate amount of skill, creating a small amount of mess in the process. He didn’t prepare any sides, instead accepting some of the apple slices, carrot sticks and cheese cubes that Nya Smith had prepared when she offered. Cole Brookstone, however, simply piled a wide variety of foods on his plate—slices of ham and a bagel and an assorted variety of crackers and chips as well as a collection of berries and several leaves of lettuce. He topped off the pile with some sort of sauce—the label read BBQ—which caused the other teenagers to look at him in horror.

“I know how awful this looks,” Cole Brookstone defended himself, “but for some reason the idea sounds _really_ good to me.”

“You’ve _got_ to be joking,” Jay Walker replied, still staring at his plate.

“Remind me to _never_ let Cole make me food,” Kai Smith said as he also stared, his nose wrinkled. 

“Ditto that,” Nya Smith said.

Zane debated whether or not to ask for the line of reasoning behind their horror, but considering the plethora of information that they’d already given him, he concluded that the answer was most likely that the combination was simply unpleasant.

Rather than move to the table, the teenagers seemed content to eat at the counter, each sitting on one of the high stools that lined two of the sides of the island—although Cole Brookstone had moved one of the stools so that he could occupy a third side, the mobile IV stand requiring a fair amount of space. Nya Smith and Kai Smith had finished their preparations first and as such had begun eating by the time Cole Brookstone had poured the sauce over his selection of foods; now they paused, watching in what appeared to be a combination of fascination and horror as the older teenager started eating. Jay Walker had his back to all of them as he finished preparing his omelette on the counter by the stove, though he kept glancing over his shoulder to watch.

After several bites of different sauce-covered foods, Cole Brookstone looked up at the others. “I don’t know what they did to me, but this tastes _really_ good.”

Nya Smith looked away, gagging slightly as her brother somehow wrinkled his nose even more. “If you say so,” Kai Smith said. Jay Walker had gone slightly pale, grimacing as he made his way to his chosen stool.

“That’s _disgusting_ ,” Nya Smith finally bit out.

Cole Brookstone shrugged.

“Right, well, I’m going to enjoy my _normal_ meal,” Jay Walker said as he sat down.

Cole Brookstone rolled his eyes. “Okay, I get it.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” Kai Smith said, still staring at the other teenager’s plate.

“Do I need to go to another room?” Cole Brookstone asked, raising his eyebrows.

“No, it’s fine,” Nya Smith said, peeking at his food before resolutely returning her attention to her own.

“Absolutely disgusting, but fine,” Jay Walker agreed. He started dividing his omelette into portions with the side of his fork.

Kai Smith buried his face in his hands. “Well, I’ve lost my appetite,” he announced.

Cole Brookstone picked up a leaf of BBQ-covered lettuce and flicked some of the sauce at him. Kai Smith yelped, ducking behind his sister, causing everyone else to burst out laughing.

“If you get sauce on my food, I _will_ murder you,” Jay Walker threatened when Cole Brookstone turned in his direction. For a moment Zane was alarmed, then he realized that the tone that Jay Walker had used had been very light, which typically indicated a joking manner.

Cole Brookstone raised his hands—and the lettuce leaf—in surrender. “I hear you.” There was a moment’s pause, then he promptly stuffed the sauce-covered leaf in his mouth.

Instantly, the other three teenagers gagged. Jay Walker started coughing, having choked on a bite of his omelette, as Kai Smith and Nya Smith made disgusted protests.

Something blossomed in Zane’s chest. It was a new emotion, one he didn’t recognize—but it was wonderful. It was almost warm, vibrant and full of energy, and Zane found himself smiling slightly.

The others’ horror had turned into laughter, and now they were taking turns coming up with ridiculous names for the food combinations on Cole Brookstone’s plate, mashing the proper names of the foods together. After several names Zane caught on to the pattern and started offering his own suggestions, to the others’ delight and laughter. The emotion in Zane’s chest grew with each suggestion, spreading through him, and when Jay Walker suggested one particularly horrendous name he couldn’t help but smile.

*****

Kai rolled out of bed, grunting as another sledgehammer of pain pounded into his temple. He’d had headaches before, especially after some of the experiments the scientists had done on him, but he’d never had one like _this_. Not only had it woken him up, but it felt like his skull was going to split in two.

Kai made his way into the common area, grimacing as the lights made the pain worse. His vision blurred and he leaned against the wall by his door. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately hoping that it would somehow make the pain fade.

“What is wrong?”

Kai jumped, flinching away from the voice as the hammer slammed into his head again. “Quiet down, would you,” he grunted.

“My apologies,” Zane said, his voice much quieter. There were footsteps, which Kai barely noticed through the pain, and then a loud _click_. It took a moment for Kai to realize that the light that had been pressing through his eyelids had mostly vanished. He cracked his eyes open to find that the common area’s lights had been turned off. The only light came from the ones in the kitchen, meaning that where Kai was was more or less in darkness.

Zane was walking back towards him, his expression concerned. “Am I correct in concluding that you are experiencing a headache?” he asked, his voice still blissfully quiet.

Kai barked out a low laugh, immediately flinching as it made the pain flare. “Worst one of my life.”

Zane nodded. “It may be a migraine. If you would come with me,” he requested. He started walking towards the infirmary, and after a moment Kai forced himself to follow. He stumbled slightly as he walked, but thankfully he didn’t full-out trip.

Zane pushed open the glass infirmary door and crossed to the hundreds of small drawers that lined the wall on the right. Kai followed until he reached the chair that was by the desk that sat next to the drawers, collapsing into it. That was a mistake, as the chair was one of the types that could spin—and it did, instantly making Kai nauseous. As if to rub salt in the wound, the invisible hammer slammed into his head again, harder than it had before.

Kai moaned.

After several more agonizing moments, Zane appeared in front of him, gently pushing a cup of water and a small pill into Kai’s hands. Kai accepted them reflexively, dumbly staring at the pill. It was one of those capsule-pills with a mix of green and blue powder inside. At least Kai _thought_ it was green and blue. It was pretty dark.

“You need to take it for it to be of any use,” Zane gently prompted.

Oh. Right. Kai popped the pill into his mouth, using the water to wash it down.

Zane took the cup from him, putting it who-knows-where as the hammer rammed into Kai’s head, spots bursting through his vision. He gasped at the pain, reflexively pulling his legs up to his chest. Doing so didn’t actually work the greatest, as the seat of the chair was pretty small.

“You should attempt to obtain more rest,” Zane said, walking back into view. Kai looked up at him disbelievingly. Get _rest?_ With his _head splitting open?_ That wasn’t going to happen any time soon. 

“The medication will take effect soon,” Zane added after a little bit. 

Oh. That would be nice. Kai stood, but a fresh burst of pain sent him staggering forward—at least until Zane caught him. There was a sharp inhale, then Zane was guiding Kai back into the chair. Normally, Kai would have been embarrassed about not being able to sit on his own, but right now his head was hurting too much for him to care.

“The runes have worn off,” Zane murmured. He was crouching, apparently examining Kai. Kai mutely stared back at him. Were Zane’s eyes glowing? They kinda looked like they were glowing, just a little bit. Or maybe they were just reflecting the light from the kitchen—they _were_ sorta silver.

“What is your power doing?” Zane asked.

Kai blinked at him. His power? It was fine, for the most part, sitting in his veins quietly. Except . . . except for in his head. It was harder to tell, because the pain kinda overwhelmed everything else, but something was wrong. “It’s . . . wrong. In my head,” Kai managed through the pain.

Zane pressed his lips together. Then he was gone. After a few minutes, Kai looked around, but he couldn’t see him anywhere.

Kai groaned as pain twisted through his head. It hurt worse than _any_ of the experiments had.

Then Zane was back. He was kneeling in front of him, something in his hands. Then something cool was brushing against Kai’s face. Kai hissed as whatever it was sent needles of pain spiking through his head on top of the hurt that was already there, but he couldn’t focus enough to jerk away.

After a moment there was a new sensation, underneath the pain. It was familiar—his power was attaching to something, going still. 

Zane was putting the squiggles on his face.

Slowly, the pain started to fade. Kai wasn’t sure if it was the result of the squiggles or the pill Zane had given him, but either way, he was glad that it was. 

A little while after Zane finished the squiggles, there was a loud _beep_. Startled, Kai turned— _bad idea, ow_ —to see Zane holding something that looked like a big hairdryer. It was pointing at Kai’s head, but Zane was looking down at something on the back of it. A screen?

“What’s that?” Kai asked.

Zane looked up at him. He opened his mouth to respond, but then he hesitated. “I am simply checking something,” he finally said. “You do not need to be concerned about it.”

Kai squinted at him. He felt like the android was leaving something out, but his head was still hurting enough to keep him from demanding to know what that something was.

Zane set the hairdryer-thing on the desk. “I would recommend going back to bed.”

That . . . sounded like a good idea. Now that the pain was fading, Kai was starting to feel how exhausted he was. He pushed himself up, mumbling a thank you as he went back to his room. He barely remembered to close the door behind him, collapsing on the bed—which made the pain flare for a moment—and burrowing his face in the pillow.

Blissful sleep took him.

*****

Cyrus sighed, rubbing his face underneath his glasses. He’d slept for nearly twelve hours, which had been much-needed, but the result was that he was _massively_ behind. Behind on his work for his company, behind on his research to help the teens that were (hopefully) sleeping a few floors above him, behind on ordering materials so that he actually could help said teens. The stacks of paperwork on his desk were virtual _towers_ , which was why Cyrus was currently sitting in the middle of the room.

It was nearly three in the morning. Cyrus hadn’t exactly had the most steady sleep schedule before, but now he was certain that he wasn’t going to have _any_ sort of schedule until Kai, Nya, Cole and Jay were all stable. They were the top priority.

Cyrus had no idea how he was going to be able to help them and run his company at the same time, however. He couldn’t step down because then his use of company materials would be restricted, and he _needed_ everything he had to help the teens. The machines that would be required to start stabilizing their powers alone . . .

The door opened. Cyrus straightened, blinking, and turned to find that Zane was hurrying towards him, his tablet held against his chest. The android looked . . . worried. Could he feel worried? Did he have emotions? Cyrus knew that he hadn’t been able to as an AI, but the mechanism that he was in was quite the feat.

Stay on track. “What is it, Zane?” Cyrus asked.

“Kai Smith,” Zane answered seriously. He activated his tablet, then turned it so that the screen faced Cyrus.

Cyrus stared at the image for a long moment. “Zane,” he asked carefully, “what am I looking at?”

“A CT scan of Kai Smith’s brain,” Zane replied. “I took it using the handheld model.”

Cyrus was a mechanical and programming engineer, not a doctor. He had no idea what he was supposed to look for, but if Zane was having him look, then something was wrong.

“And?” Cyrus prompted.

“All of my research indicates that Kai Smith’s power is many times more unstable than the others’,” Zane said, lowering the device. “Even more so after his collapse yesterday. While the acolai runes certainly helped, his power remains severely unstable. Unfortunately, with its most recent surge, it manifested in such a way that it caused brain damage.”

Cyrus’ breath hitched. _No._ “How bad is it?” he asked anxiously. “Is he alright?”

“The damage is minimal,” Zane replied. “But even with continuous appliance of the acolai runes, my analysis indicates that it will continue to worsen unless his power is at least partially stabilized in a permanent fashion.”

Cyrus swore under his breath. “I need to hurry, then—Zane, how much time do I have before the damage starts affecting him?”

Zane blinked. After a moment, he replied, “He is already experiencing severe pain, but he has approximately fourteen hours before any damage will permanently affect him.”

 _Fourteen hours._ That was all Cyrus had to get the first stabilizing procedure completely ready.

It wasn’t enough time.

Cyrus swore again, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. He mentally ran through all of his options, searching for the best choice. No matter what he considered, though, something would fall through—and hurt the teens.

Wait a minute.

“Zane?” Cyrus asked, looking up at the android. “How did you . . .” There were a lot of endings to that question, and Cyrus was trying to ask them all at once.

Thankfully, Zane understood. He tapped something on his tablet, then showed Cyrus the screen. His personal device history was open—and it listed dozens of medical websites and journals, as well as hundreds of the files on the teens that had been scanned. Briefly Cyrus wondered how it was possible for Zane to read so much in such a short time, much less _understand_ it—and then he remembered who Zane was. Or rather, _what_. While he was, at this point, a living being, he was still mechanically a computer. His reading speed was _much_ faster than that of a human’s, and his capability to understand what he read was infinitely more advanced.

“Zane,” Cyrus realized. “I need your help.”

Zane straightened almost imperceptibly. “Of course. What do you need me to do?”

Cyrus took a deep breath, then started to explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I actually know anything about medical stuff? Nope. But what's written is how it works here (gotta love the magic of creative writing).


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s not exactly the most clear so I’m just gonna say here that all three sections of this chapter more or less happen at the same time.

Nya rested her chin on her fist, staring out over Ninjago City. The sun had just come up, which meant that the skyscrapers below were glimmering a pale sort of goldenish color, though the streets below were still dark, too far down for the sun to reach yet. They almost looked like shadowy rivers, if rivers ran in a grid pattern. 

It was weird, being so high up. Three years ago Nya hadn’t even _seen_ a building taller than two stories and an attic—Ignacia wasn’t exactly known for its developed economy—much less been in one. Now she was in the tallest skyscraper in Ninjago, on a floor higher than all of the other skyscrapers she could see. She hadn’t realized it at first—there weren’t any windows in the rest of the living area Borg had created for them, though if there was a reason for that she didn’t know it. But here in “her” bedroom, there was a six-foot-wide rectangle of glass that let her see as far as she wanted too, set along the length of the bed. A nightstand was set next to the bed’s headboard, and further down that wall there was an actual hardwood dresser. On the opposite wall of that was a desk with a matching chair, and three long, empty shelves ran along the length of the wall above that, coming to an end over the foot of the bed. The door that led out to the rest of the living area was set in the far wall, the panel that controlled the overhead light and the temperature set just to the right of it. Despite lacking any sort of personal touch—the walls, ceiling and carpet were all a flat grey, as was the bedding, and the alarm clock on the nightstand and the lamp on the desk were standard Borg Industries issues—Nya actually liked it a lot. It was how she’d always imagined what a college dorm would be like, a cookie-cutter room that would become hers as time went on—and it was definitely cookie-cutter, as a glimpse into the others’ rooms had revealed the same setup. It made sense that they would have been constructed that way, what with how much Borg was juggling. Simpler was easier, and cookie-cutter was simplest.

It was all so surreal. Nya hadn’t even been free of the labs for seventy-two hours yet, by her count, and yet it seemed like ages ago. Almost as if it had all been a terrible dream that she’d finally woken up from. If she wasn’t currently in Borg Tower so that the results the experiments had had on her could be treated, she could probably convince herself that it _had_ all been a nightmare.

Nya shifted, pulling her knees up to her chest as she hugged herself. She’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that she was worried. Worried for her stubborn-as-a-mule brother, for one—thank goodness she’d managed to convince him to stay—and of course for the others, Cole and Jay, and maybe even for Zane a little bit too, seeing as the rest of them were fairly dangerous and he hadn’t done anything to distance himself. Though Nya was glad that he hadn’t. Somehow, having another person that was a completely different type of weird than “lab experiment” made her feel a bit better about herself. Not to mention that Zane’s innocent curiosity was seriously endearing. 

But as for Nya herself . . .

Nya curled her toes in the rumpled sheets. Cole had accidentally caused an earthquake, Jay had apparently EMPed a good amount of the city, and Kai had not only almost burnt down a warehouse with both of them inside but had collapsed because of his power since then, and Nya’s sibling-senses were telling her that there was something else going on with him. But Nya? Sure, she’d gotten washback when she’d used her power, but other than that there’d been _nothing_. No agitated fluctuations of her power inside of her, no mood swings or pain—no outbursts of _any_ kind. On the one hand, Nya knew that that could definitely be a good thing—it could mean that her power is more “stable” or whatever, which would mean that everybody would be at least marginally safer. On the flip side, though, it could very well mean that her outburst was yet to come—and that thought terrified her.

There was a third possibility, though, one that’d been nagging at the back of her mind. Borg had told her that the washback she got from using her power was most likely because of how unstable it was, and judging by how much it affected her, it meant that her power was in pretty bad shape. But . . . none of the others seemed to get washback. True, she’d really only seen Kai use his power, but Cole’s outburst had been caused by him collapsing, not the other way around, and Jay didn’t seem to do more than flinch when lighting flickered around his hands. Not to mention that besides the panicked force that each of the others had used when escaping, none of them seemed to have any control over their power whatsoever. 

So maybe . . . maybe Nya was just _different_. She couldn’t think of a reason why that would be—well, besides the obvious fact that she’s a girl and the others are all guys, but she honestly didn’t think that that would have such an effect. Well, who was she kidding—she knew next to nothing about all of this. It very well _could_ be the reason why.

Nya scanned the buildings below for the nth time before sighing. After hesitating for a moment—and then mentally scolding herself for doing so—she closed her eyes.

Her power was . . . odd. Well, everything about all of this was odd, but still. Kai had described his power as heat that filled his veins, running throughout his entire body, but Nya could barely feel hers. It was definitely there, but it also . . . wasn’t. The closest thing Nya could compare it to was the old water pumps back in Ignacia—the water was there, just beneath your feet, but the only reason you knew so was because of the iron pump that stuck out of the ground. It wasn’t that hard to get the water—all you had to do was pump the handle but it was impossible for you to actually tell how much water was underneath you. Her power was kind of like that—easily accessed, but not so easily felt. It was just . . . there, just out of reach. Ready to be tapped into, although actually doing so wasn’t very much fun.

Nya opened her eyes, huffing in frustration. Sitting here wasn’t going to help her figure anything out.

She stood, moving to the dresser and pulling the drawers open. The first two were empty, but the third one had a basic set of clothes—jeans, a white t-shirt and a blue and grey Borg jacket, as well as a set of tennis shoes and some socks. It took Nya a moment to place why they were familiar—identical to what Zane had been wearing, though in female cuts and in her size. Standard Borg Issue, she supposed. Hopefully she’d be able to personalize her wardrobe a bit more soon—she figured Borg would be alright with it once he actually had time to spare so that she could ask.

She quickly changed out of the grey Borg Issue pajamas she’d been given last night and into the new outfit—and promptly squealed in excitement before clapping a hand over her mouth. She felt her face heat, even though no one was around.

The jeans actually had _big pockets_.

*****

Zane started as there was a loud _clang_. Pulled out of his calculations, he turned in his seat to see that Cyrus Borg was glaring at a long, curved silver bar that had escaped the grip of the miniature crane that was beginning the assembly of the machine that would begin to stabilize the ex-experiments’ power.

“I’m so sorry—” the female operator exclaimed, jumping out of the carriage. 

Cyrus Borg sighed. “It’s alright. Better it happen now than when someone was underneath it.”

The operator nodded, and she and several other workers started reattaching the bar. Cyrus Borg watched them for a few moments before turning to wheel to Zane.

“How is it going, Zane?” Cyrus Borg asked.

Zane briefly analyzed. “The initial calculations are nearly complete,” he reported, glancing at the screen of the computer he was working with. Manually inputting the data and formulating the algorithms on the company computer was extremely slow in comparison to the speeds that he had managed while still in the network, and it was causing him to feel what he had tentatively identified as frustration. Time was a commodity that they did not possess in abundance, yet the necessary work that had to be completed required much of it.

Cyrus Borg must have observed something that somewhat tipped him off as to what Zane was experiencing, because he sighed and said, “I know. We’ve only got eight hours left to get this to work.”

Zane silently corroborated the accuracy of that statement. They’d been able to achieve much in the six hours that they had had—scanning through the files to understand what needed to be done and then designing a machine that would actually be capable of doing it, and managing Cyrus Borg’s official duties as well. Zane had adapted to the best of his abilities, and between him and the inventor they’d managed to complete everything at a much faster rate than anything achieved previously—but the machine was intricate, and even if everything occurred exactly as planned, they’d be “down to the wire” when it would come to actually getting it built in time to help Kai Smith. And unfortunately, Zane had long since observed that it was extremely rare for plans to never have anything go wrong—as the fallen bar had already proved.

Cyrus Borg removed his glasses, cleaning the glass with the hem of his turtleneck sweater. “Right,” he said, replacing the item on his face. “Back to work.”

Zane nodded and turned back to the computer screen.

*****

“Morning, sparkplug—”

Jay yelped, flailing for a moment—and tumbled off the couch, banging his head on the coffee table. It took him a few moments to place that he was in the common area, and a few more to identify that it’d been Cole who’d spoken—and who was now roaring with laughter.

Jay scrambled to his feet, ignoring the lightning that was flickering around his hands so he could glare at Cole. 

“I’m sorry,” Cole said, stifling his laughter. “But that was the funniest thing I’ve seen since—” He froze, as if just realizing what he’d been about to say. His face fell.

Jay didn’t like that. “It’s fine,” he said, flashing a small grin and very pointedly ignoring the fact that his head was still smarting. “I was just a little _jolted_.”

Cole squinted at him. Jay lifted one hand, wiggling his sparking fingers with a smirk. Cole blinked, then started sniggering. “That was _horrible_.”

“Nah,” Jay said, tucking his hands under his arms. He thought for a second, then continued, “I think it was pretty en- _lightning_.”

Cole laughed harder.

“They might not be _shocking_ enough, though,” Jay added.

“Pfffft.” Cole was covering his mouth with a fist, now. After a second he managed in between laughs, “I really shouldn’t be laughing so much—they’re not even that funny.”

“Excuse you, I’m hilarious!” Jay exclaimed in mock offense, dramatically pressing a hand to his chest. Instantly he winced as the lightning started stinging it.

Cole glanced at Jay’s hand, his laughter calming. “You alright?”

Jay briefly closed his eyes, evaluating. “I’m fine,” he decided. He lifted his hand, twisting it in front of his face as he watched the sparks jump between his fingers. “My adrenaline’s still going, though, which I think is what this is.”

Cole grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Jay shrugged. Things happened, it was normal.

“What’re you . . . what were you doing out here, anyways?” Cole asked.

Oh. Jay should have figured he’d pick up on that. “I, uh . . .”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Cole hurriedly input when he hesitated.

“No, it’s—it’s fine.” Jay took a deep breath, forcing his heart rate to slow. For several long moments he watched the lighting dance across his hands before they flickered out. 

“I had a nightmare,” Jay finally admitted, tucking his hands under his arms again. “And I—um—the bedroom is, uh, kinda small.” Instantly he regretted saying that. Heat bloomed in his cheeks and he ducked his head, staring at the floor.

There was a soft, “Oh.”

Jay peeked back up at Cole, confused. Cole’s gaze was unfocused, like he was staring at something Jay couldn’t see—and then he blinked, grimacing.

“The cage?” Cole hesitantly asked.

Jay stared at him in surprise for a moment, then mentally slapped himself. Cole had been an experiment too. Even though the results of their experiments were wildly different, there were going to be some things that they had both experienced.

Such as, apparently, the cage.

“Yeah,” Jay answered.

There was a silence after that, but it was more sad than awkward.

Then there was a blood-curdling scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger  
> On a happier note, Happy 10th anniversary!!! 🎉


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was somewhat tricky to write. Please let me know if something doesn't make sense, it is a definite possibility.

Kai clamped down on his bottom lip, desperately trying to muffle the whimpers that were spilling out of him. Had he screamed? He was pretty sure he’d just screamed. The metal frame of the bed behind him was digging into his back, but he barely noticed—waves of pain were tearing through him, feeding the heat in his veins and shredding his insides to pieces— _everything_ hurt, _so_ bad.

Another wave attacked him, enveloping him in pain as every nerve lit on fire—his body arched in response, muscles spasming—another pained cry was forced out of him as his vision went white.

The pain faded to only mildly-more-than-unbearable, instead of agonizing, and Kai sagged. He gasped for air—it hurt to breathe, like trying to swallow acid—something was crushing his head, his skull was gonna crack—

Pain blazed through him, making the world go white again—it was knives this time, carving into every inch of his body with white-hot blades that made him _scream_ —

Please, someone, make it _stop_ —get it to _stop_ — _please!_

The pain dulled, just slightly. Kai curled in tighter on himself, blinking as his vision faded back in—it even hurt to _blink_ —and trying to get some air.

The next wave was _worse_ —it started slow, spreading through his chest and gripping his lungs until it hurt too much to scream—it spread through the rest of him—he couldn’t move, it hurt—it was hellfire inside of him, destroying him from the inside out—

His power twisted in on itself and he let out a strangled gasp as the pain nearly vanished—

Then his power exploded.

*****

Zane was drinking some water to assist in the cooling of his systems when Jay Walker burst into the room, lighting surrounding his arms and shouting for Cyrus Borg.

“What is it?” the inventor asked in alarm, setting down the device he’d been using to construct some of the machine’s more finer mechanisms. Everyone else in the room had also frozen, their attention on the teenager.

“It’s Kai,” Jay Walker blurted. “It—he—it’s really bad, he’s _screaming_ —and—and none of us can get close to him—”

Zane dropped the water bottle, sprinting for the elevators. Jay Walker yelped as Zane passed him, but Zane gave him no heed. He skidded into the open elevator, his algorithms running as fast as they were capable of. Obviously, Kai Smith’s power was surging again. Either something had happened to nullify the effects of the acolai runes, or Kai Smith had somehow burned through them. The latter was more likely, and Zane cursed himself for not anticipating that potentiality sooner.

Zane spent the entire forty-seven seconds of the elevator ride debating what the next course of action should be. Sedating the teenager would likely be required for the safety of the others, but doing so would only cause the condition of his power to degrade further.

Zane bolted towards Kai Smith’s bedroom as soon as the elevator doors opened. Nya Smith and Cole Brookstone were both standing several feet away from it, their postures tense. Zane quickly identified the reason for their distance: the temperature went up several degrees with every step he took closer. The two teenagers were probably as close as they could bear.

Nya Smith turned as Zane approached. “He stopped screaming, and the temperature skyrocketed—I think he blacked out—” she stammered out. It was easy for Zane to identify that she was close to panicking. Cole Brookstone appeared just as anxious, shifting on the balls of his feet as he stared at Kai Smith’s bedroom with a tight expression.

Zane moved past them, paying careful attention to the rising temperature as he entered Kai Smith’s bedroom.

Kai Smith was slumped against what had once been the bed, curled around himself and obviously unconscious. Anything metal or plastic in the room—the alarm clock, the lamp, and primarily the iron bed frame—had melted, as had the glass window, while everything flammable had burnt. The bedding and carpet had been reduced to ash, but the wooden dresser and desk were still burning, vibrant blue flames licking up the—thankfully still intact—walls.

The acolai runes painted on Kai Smith’s skin were no longer glowing but still intact, confirming that Kai Smith had used all of their power. Zane briefly noted the incredible fact that the paint itself was still intact despite the high temperature, which attested to the uniqueness of its components, but quickly set the information aside.

He turned, then darted out of the bedroom, towards the infirmary. Nya Smith and Cole Brookstone both made startled noises, but Zane paid them no heed. He snatched up the paint and brush and pivoted, returning to Kai Smith’s bedroom just as quickly.

“What are you—” Cole Brookstone asked as he passed, but Zane shook his head. He didn’t have time to answer.

Zane stepped into the bedroom, carefully making his way to Kai Smith. When the temperature of the air immediately around Zane registered 1000° F/537° C—about halfway across the room—alarms in his body’s programming triggered. Zane flinched in surprise at the sudden burst of input, but he quickly silenced them, focusing on the teenager in front of him.

Zane knelt by Kai Smith’s side, quickly unscrewing the jar of paint and dipping the brush in. The brush’s wooden handle was smoldering, so Zane rapidly covered it in a thin layer of the inflammable paint. Then he focused on the teenager in front of him, painting fresh runes onto his skin as fast as he was able to. Each one glowed a bright red when it was completed, just as they had when Zane had applied the runes to his face the night before. 

The temperature gradually started to lower. Encouraged, Zane increased his pace—and made a mistake. The side of his hand brushed Kai Smith’s scalding skin, and instantly the sensors in that area stopped producing input. Zane jerked his hand away, startled—then hissed in surprise as a new input rocketed up his arm. It was the opposite of pleasant, a frantic series of sharp inputs that came from the damaged sensors and overwhelmed everything else, causing Zane’s breathing system to stutter.

Pain. It had to be, Zane couldn’t recall any other term that seemed to describe it accurately. 

After several long moments, Zane forced his programming to repress the input so he could ignore the sensation. Switching the brush to his other hand, he continued with his task, carefully holding his damaged hand against his chest.

After a large number of minutes—Zane hadn’t been keeping count of exactly how many—Zane had covered Kai Smith’s arms, head, back and chest—he’d carefully removed the teenager’s non-flammable shirt—in the runes, and the ambient temperature as well as Kai Smith’s body temperature were rapidly returning to normal, the furniture extinguishing.

Nya Smith rushed into the room as Zane picked up the near-empty jar of paint, dropping to her knees to pull her brother into her arms.

“What’s wrong?” Nya Smith asked, looking up at Zane as he stood. “Is he okay? Is he going to be alright?”

“His power is extremely unstable,” Zane answered. “And as long as we can get it partially stabilized in a permanent manner soon, he should be fine.” 

“ _Should?_ ” Nya Smith asked, her voice rising in pitch.

“Is that what you’re building downstairs, something to stabilize our power?” Jay Walker asked from the doorway. He had to step out of the way, though, as medics rushed into the room with a gurney, accompanied by Cyrus Borg’s head medical expert. Nya Smith’s grip on her brother tightened momentarily, but at the expert’s insistence she allowed him to be carefully transferred to the gurney.

“The first step,” Zane answered Jay Walker as Kai Smith was wheeled towards the infirmary, his sister still holding his hand.

“Zane, are you okay?” Cole Brookstone asked. Zane blinked, turning to the teen. Zane was standing in the common area, just outside of Kai Smith’s room—when had he moved?

“There is no reason to be concerned,” Zane answered honestly. “If you would excuse me, I need to return to assisting Cyrus Borg.” 

The teenagers stepped out of the way as Zane moved past them, making his way to the elevator. He barely registered what he was seeing as he moved, though—the repressed input was interrupting his algorithms, making it difficult for him to process.

Zane stepped into the elevator, and after a moment’s hesitation hit the “close doors” button. Just in time, too—the moment the doors closed fully, the code Zane had implemented to repress the damaged inputs failed.

Pain overwhelmed him. He made a strangled sound, collapsing to the floor of the elevator, reflexively curling himself into a ball. It was like nothing else Zane had ever experienced—it _hurt_. And it was awful.

After some unknown length of time that seemed like hours, the pain started to dull. Disoriented, Zane attempted to identify the source of the inputs—the source of the _pain_. The area that hurt the most was the side of his hand, but that wasn’t what was overwhelming him. What was overwhelming him was the pain that was coming from the entire exterior of his body. 

Hazily, Zane initiated a self-diagnostic. After several moments the results were reported to his central coding: The surface sensors on the side of his hand were completely burnt out, the ones underneath partially melted. No other location was as damaged as his hand was, but every surface sensor was at least damaged from exposure to too much heat. The spasmic inputs from the damaged sensors were interfering with the software of the rest of his systems, but nothing else was damaged.

Zane carefully started constructing new code. It had the same goal as the one he’d constructed previously: to repress the input so he could ignore it. He made this code stronger, self-renewing. Once he was satisfied, he implemented it.

The pain faded to a dull sensation that Zane could easily dismiss. He climbed to his feet, straightening his clothes—and winced when the most damaged part of his hand touched the cloth and sent a burst of pain that made it through the code. So, it wasn’t a perfect solution. However, it would work for the time being—time was “running out” to help Kai Smith before his brain damage became permanent. Due to the latest surge in his power, Zane calculated that they had less than two hours to get the machine complete. He had no time to repair himself, nor did he actually know how to—and in the long run, the well-beings of the teenagers were infinitely more important than Zane’s own, anyways.

After all, he was merely an android.

Zane pushed the button that corresponded with the floor that Cyrus Borg was building the power-stabilizing machine on, swaying slightly as the elevator kicked into motion. During the forty-seven second trip, Zane visually examined the damaged part of his hand. The synthetic skin was . . . smudged, slightly discolored. It wasn’t noticeable unless one was searching for it, however.

The elevator reached the correct floor. Zane refocused his attention to the task at hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm sick (not with covid, hopefully, things are pretty mild so far), but that also means that I'm gonna be writing all day because that's what I do, so expect another one soon. :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I plan any of this? Nope. But it happened, so here ya go

Jay was pacing. He felt a bit silly, but his emotions—and the lightning—were too agitated for him not to. Even with the pacing, sparks were still jumping between his fingers, though he was starting to get used to the constant pricks. Thankfully, the only person who was paying him any attention was Cole, and he trusted Cole not to judge him.

They were waiting outside the infirmary. Cole was leaning against the glass wall, watching what was happening inside. There had been lots of bustle before, but things had settled down now. Kai was in one of the beds, hooked up to monitors and an IV, Nya sitting by his side and gripping his hand. Borg was quietly talking to the Doctor-person, seemingly discussing whatever the screen they were looking at was showing. Zane hadn’t reappeared since he’d left after helping Kai—Jay was worried about him, actually. Cole had been the one to point out to him that the android had seemed off after leaving Kai’s room, like he didn’t quite know what was going on around him. Jay had seen the damage done to Kai’s room—he’d _melted the bed frame_. Even if the bed frame had only been iron, that type of heat was way beyond what most materials could handle, which most likely meant that Zane had been hurt too.

If he had, he hadn’t let it on, though. Jay considered the possibility that he might not know that he was hurt. He had only had a body for like, three days, after all. Or maybe he did, but it wasn’t that bad. Or maybe . . . maybe he just didn’t know how to react. Jay couldn’t imagine what it would be like getting hurt for the first time ever. But he’d seemed mostly okay, so hopefully he was?

He said as much to Cole, letting himself ramble in an attempt to distract himself. Thankfully, Cole didn’t seem to mind, adding his own comments when Jay paused to breathe. He never took his eyes off Borg, though, and Jay briefly wondered what exactly he was trying to do. Read his lips? Or maybe he was just trying to gather as much information as possible from what he could see.

After all, what had happened to Kai could potentially happen to all of them.

Jay came to a stop, examining Cole. He was free of the IV he’d had to tote around yesterday—Jay momentarily remembered one of Borg’s workers coming up last night and giving Cole a bottle of pills—and he was wearing the same getup they all were, Borg jacket and white t-shirt and jeans. Somehow, that last bit emphasized just how much bigger Cole was than him. Jay had never thought of himself as small—sure, he was shorter for a guy, at only 5’8”, but he wasn’t _tiny_ , nor was he super skinny. On the opposite side of the scale Cole was big, easily a head taller than Jay and set like a football player. Jay didn’t feel threatened by him, though, not like he’d felt threatened by the big guys who’d bullied him in the past. 

For the first time since leaning against the glass, Cole turned and looked at him. His eyebrows raised, which is when Jay realized he’d been caught staring.

“You’re tall,” Jay blurted.

Cole blinked. “And you’re short,” he retorted.

“I am _not!_ ” Jay protested.

Cole shrugged. “Short _er_ ,” he amended, turning to look back through the glass.

“I’m not shorter than Nya,” Jay countered.

Cole looked like he was trying not to smile. “You’re still shorter than the rest of us.”

Jay crossed his arms, mock-pouting. Technically, Cole was right—Kai was a few inches taller than him, and Zane was almost as tall as Cole was.

“I’m not short,” Jay pouted. Cole ducked his head, hiding a snort of laughter. Jay felt a small glow of pride—mission accomplished.

After that, though, Jay didn’t have anything else to say. He fidgeted with the cuff of his jacket, tapped his foot. He glanced at Kai and Nya through the glass—Nya still looked like she was trying not to cry. Borg had said something to her earlier that apparently hadn’t been good news, but Jay was trying not to think about what that might have been because he was already anxious enough as it was.

“Ugh,” Jay groaned, spinning once in place. “I feel so _useless!_ Isn’t there something we can do to help?”

“That depends on your skill set.”

Jay squeaked, jumping to face Borg as his face went red. Borg didn’t seem to notice as he wheeled out of the infirmary, his expression grim.

“What do you mean?” Cole asked, straightening.

Borg sighed. “You’re aware that we’re building a machine that will start stabilizing your power, correct?”

Jay and Cole glanced at each other.

“Yeah,” Jay answered. “Zane said that it would help Kai, too.”

Borg nodded. “His current condition is due to the extreme instability of his power, so once his power is more stable—”

“—he’ll get better,” Cole finished.

“Correct. But unfortunately, we’re running out of time.”

That didn’t sound good. “Running out of time?” Jay questioned, his heart rate quickening.

“Kai’s power is so unstable that it’s causing him brain damage,” Borg said quietly. “The human body is miraculous, but it can only heal from so much—and according to Zane’s latest calculation, we only have—” Borg checked his watch, “—ninety-four minutes before he’s injured to the point that damage will start to become permanent.”

The air was knocked out of Jay’s chest. _Ninety-four minutes._ That was barely more than an hour and a half—that was almost _no_ time.

“How long until you’ll be ready?” Cole asked.

Borg shook his head. “Too long.”

“I’m good with tech,” Jay found himself saying. _What are you doing, idiot._ “At least I was before, uh,” Jay held up his sparking hands. He couldn’t even get _close_ to the insides of tech without shorting everything out, much less actually help put something together. “I might still be able to help, though. Somehow.”

Borg’s eyes lit up slightly. “Actually, that may not be a problem. Those are an effect of your power being unstable. If you were to use the runes, that should be enough to allow you to work on technology safely.”

Jay stared at him. Had he just heard that right? _Please_ tell him that he’d heard that right, because if he had—

Hope bloomed in his chest.

“I don’t know anything about tech stuff,” Cole admitted. “I can assist, though, fetch and carry and such.”

Borg nodded. “Every set of hands helps.”

“Count me in.”

They all turned to Nya, who was standing in the doorway of the infirmary. Her eyes were red, but her expression was determined, her chin held high. 

“Are you sure?” Borg asked. “If you want to stay with Kai—”

“Sitting around isn’t going to help him,” Nya said firmly. “And I’m a mechanic. I know I can help.”

“Right. Well, we’ve got—” Borg checked his watch again, “—ninety-three minutes and counting. Nya, Cole, get down to floor 86. Zane will tell you what to do. Jay, come with me—we need to get those runes on you.”

*****

Cole was _definitely_ out of his depth. While Jay and Nya had seemed to understand what they were all doing almost instantly, Cole _still_ didn’t know. He’d settled for listening to everyone else—retrieving this or that tool when someone needed it, holding parts in place while someone screwed it in, grabbing additional screws or bolts or whatever the bajillion little pieces were called.

After not too long Mr. Borg—or Borg, as Cole was starting to think of him—employed Cole’s super-strength to set the rest of the big pieces in place. Cole was able to do so _way_ faster than the cranes and forklifts, and within twenty minutes the frame of the machine was done. It was pretty big, maybe ten feet high, and roundish with bumps like a beehive. It was hollow on the inside, the more fancy bits of round machinery lining the inside wall, all directed towards a sort of platform-bed thing that stood in the center. It was scarily similar to one of the scientist’s devices that Cole had been forced into a lot, but it was obvious that Borg was doing his best to make it more “friendly”. The bed-platform was cushioned and had bright colors, distinctly lacking the manacles and chains that Cole had gotten so used to. There were windows in the walls, too, letting light in and making it feel more like a room and less like a pitch-black prison cell.

Cole banged his head into the top of the somewhat small entry for the dozenth time as he entered. He swore, blinking the blur out of his vision as he made his way to Jay. Jay was perched on a set of scaffolding, attaching more components to the wall. Or ceiling. Wall-ceiling. The beehive shape curved to make the ceiling, and the area Jay was working on was along that curve. 

“Here,” Cole said, handing the stuff Jay had asked for up to him. Once his hands were free he rubbed his hairline, which was where he hit the door frame every. Single. Time.

Jay glanced down at him, his tongue still peeking out of his mouth from concentration. His jacket sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, revealing the line of runes that ran down each arm, glowing a vivid blue. “Thank—did you hit your head _again?_ ” he asked.

“Seriously?” Nya asked from another scaffold on the other side of the fairly small room. 

“Twenty-five minutes!” Borg called from outside the beehive. Both Nya and Jay swore, returning their attention to what they were working on.

“Anything else?” Cole asked quickly.

“No, not now,” Jay replied.

“Go ask Zane what to do next,” Nya called.

Cole nodded—not that either of them were looking at him—and hurried back out of the beehive. The majority of Borg’s workers were hunched over tables, assembling the various . . . thingies . . . that Jay and Nya were attaching. Borg was overseeing that each one was built correctly—they didn’t have time to make mistakes—and Zane was at the computer, apparently putting the code that the machine needed together.

“What else?” Cole asked as he jogged up to Zane. 

The android looked up, briefly glancing over the room. Cole took the moment to study him. So far, he hadn't seen anything that indicated that Zane wasn't okay.

“The various components are nearly complete," Zane reported. "Continue to transfer them into the mechanism so they can be attached.”

Cole could do that. He patrolled the aisles of tables, and whenever someone finished another component, he’d run it into the beehive and hand it off to either Jay or Nya. He figured they had to really know their stuff, as they were selected as the best two to attach stuff as there wasn’t much space.

As he brought in another component, Cole hit his head again. He swore, this time using one of the more colorful words he knew, and rolled his eyes when there was a resulting snort of laughter from inside the beehive.

“Ha ha,” Cole said as he stepped into the beehive. “Go ahead, laugh it up.” He brought this component to Nya, who flipped it in her hands and scanned the markings before setting it on the scaffolding next to her so she could finish screwing in the one she was working on.

“It _is_ a little funny,” Nya said over the sound of the drill. Her voice was tinted with amusement. After a moment Cole figured it was better than if it were stressed—nerves and stress caused mistakes, and mistakes weren’t going to help Kai.

“You’d think you’d have learned where the frame is by now!” Jay called. Then he swore, and there was the sharp _ching_ of something metal hitting the ground.

Cole rolled his eyes, hurrying across the beehive to retrieve the tool Jay had dropped. It had rolled under the scaffolding, so he had to bend down to grab it—and hit the back of his head on one of the scaffold’s bars on the way up. He swore, rubbing the back of his head as he straightened. 

“It’s almost like . . .” Nya’s teasing trailed off. Cole handed the tool up to Jay, then glanced over at her curiously. She was staring at him, her brow furrowed.

“Cole,” Nya asked. “How tall were you last time you got measured?”

“Six feet even,” Cole instantly replied. He didn’t need to think about it—he’d plateaued at six feet about a year before he’d been taken prisoner.

There was silence for a moment.

“What?” Cole asked, looking between Jay and Nya. Why were they concerned about his height?

Jay took a deep breath. “Cole, you’re at _least_ six-two. Probably closer to six-three.”

He . . . what? But . . .

Oh.

Cole swallowed dryly. So he was taller. He could handle that, it wasn’t the worst thing that was done to him.

“Twenty minutes!” Borg called.

Cole kicked himself back into motion as Nya and Jay continued working. He ducked extra low to get through the doorway, this time managing to avoid hitting his head.

Borg’s workers were starting to stand as they finished the final components. One ducked past him, bringing her component inside the beehive.

Cole looked around. There wasn’t much he could do, at this point. 

He made his way over to Zane, paying attention to how tall he was compared to everything else. It wasn’t too different from how he remembered being, except he was taller than even more people than he had been before.

Actually, he realized as he scanned the various workers, he was probably the tallest person in the room.

Zane glanced up at him when he got close.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Cole asked.

Zane blinked, his expression shifting to something slightly more questioning. Then he glanced over the rest of the room, seeming to realize that there wasn’t anything for Cole to do.

“Corner hall, first right,” Zane instructed, nodding at one of the room’s corners.

“Thanks.” 

Minutes later, Cole was leaning against the sink, staring at himself in the mirror. He didn’t _look_ taller, though that might have been because he could only see the top half of his body. He did look older than he had before the scientist had captured them—his facial structure slightly more mature, his shoulders broader—but that was to be expected, he’d been held prisoner for over a year. But he’d finished getting taller, before. He’d stopped growing once he’d hit six feet, and he’d been fine with that—six feet was tall enough.

But now he was even _taller_ —and he hadn’t even noticed.

No wonder Jay had commented on him being tall.

Cole took a deep breath. It was shakier than he wanted it to be, and he ran a hand down his face. He didn’t know why he was so hung up on this—it was a tiny thing, compared to his limitless metabolism or his actual _superpowers_. More or less insignificant. But . . . maybe that _was_ why. Because he could deal with the fact that they’d forced the unnatural on him, they could have done that to anyone. Who knows, maybe those effects could even be reversed in some unknown way. But this . . . they hadn’t just forced something unnatural on him, they’d tampered with the _natural_ part of him. 

And he _hadn’t even noticed_.

Cole took another deep breath, forcing himself to let it out slowly. 

His eyes were stinging. 

_Don’t cry._

He blinked furiously, but it didn’t help. His breathing was hitching, his throat starting to close up.

 _Don’t cry._ _They’ll hurt you._

No—they couldn’t hurt him, they weren’t here. He was safe.

 _Don’t cry._ It was his father’s voice this time, stern and demanding. _Only failures cry._

Cole growled. He reached for the faucet, intending to turn the water on so he could splash his face—

The handle came off, the porcelain sink cracking as a chunk was torn out of it. Cold water sprayed out through twisted metal, soaking Cole’s arm.

Cole stared at the handle in his hand for a long moment.

Then he broke.

A shuddering sob tore out of his chest as he staggered back, falling to the tile. Then he was crying, tears spilling down his cheeks as he curled in on himself. After a moment he chucked the handle at the opposite wall—it slammed into the plaster, hanging out of the wall like a crossbow bolt.

Cole buried his face in his knees as he sobbed, squeezing his eyes shut. Desperately he wished that he had never signed up for the stupid program, wished that he hadn’t needed the money that had caused him to do so, wished that he hadn’t run away from Oppenheimer’s, wished that Mom was _still alive_ —

His power burst through him. Instantly he panicked, trying to pull it back in as it spilled out of him, but he couldn’t. It forced its way out of him, spreading through the tile he was sitting on and then continuing downwards, searching for earth—he was up _so high_ —and then it twisted. For a moment it stilled, and Cole held his breath, hoping—

It burst out of him in a wave. The mirrors shattered as the stall doors behind him slammed open towards the toilets, some snapping off their hinges. Dust fell from the ceiling and Cole started coughing, curling in on himself as his power burst out of him again, shattering the porcelain sinks and toilets. Water started spraying in every direction, but Cole couldn’t do more than cower, desperately trying to control the energy pulsing through him.

“ _Cole!_ ”

Cole snapped his head up to see a blur, then the blur was slamming into him, knocking him back onto the wet tile. Cole cried out as another wave burst out of him, but whoever it was held tight, one arm hooked around Cole’s neck.

“ _It’s okay!_ ” the person—Jay, the person was _Jay_ —shouted over the sounds of the water. “ _You’re safe, I promise! Everything’s gonna be okay!_ ” Jay shifted so that they were sitting upright and Cole clung to the smaller boy desperately, tensing as another wave forced its way out of him. Jay grunted, but continued to hold tight.

“ _Breathe!_ ”Jay shouted. “ _Just focus on your breathing!_ ”

Cole squeezed his eyes shut, trying to obey. The energy—his power—was storming inside of him, twisting and writhing and collecting so that it could explode outwards, over and over and over. Another wave burst outwards and he cried out as it _hurt_ , doubling over and burying his face in Jay’s shoulder.

“Breathe, Cole,” Jay urged, his voice now right next to Cole’s ear.

Cole sucked in a breath, held it for a second—and cried out as another wave pulsed out of him.

“ _Breathe_.”

Cole tried again. In . . . and out. A few panicked gasps before he managed another steady in, then out. He tensed as another wave built inside of him, digging his fingers into Jay’s jacket—

“Relax, Cole. You’re okay.”

Cole considered that—but then the wave was bursting out of him, and he felt rather than saw a chunk of ceiling right above them start to fall—

There was a mixture of noises that Cole couldn’t place, but he knew that somehow, the piece of ceiling had been knocked away.

“Breathe,” Jay instructed again. “And this time, list four things that you can hear in your head.”

Four things he could hear. Cole could do that. He took a deep breath, then started listing. Water spraying, that was the loudest. Jay breathing. Something was splashing in the water, sounding like footsteps—

Jay gasped. “Zane, you scared me.”

“Apologies.”

Zane, Cole added to his list. He could hear Zane.

Another wave started building in his chest and he tensed.

“Breathe,” Jay repeated. 

Cole pressed his face into his shoulder. The wave was still building, but he forced himself to relax, to focus on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. In—

The wave pulsed out of him, but it wasn’t as strong as the previous ones.

—Out.

“That’s it!” Jay said, _way_ too cheerfully. Cole snorted out a laugh.

In. Out.

Cole was getting _really_ cold. He was completely soaked, as was Jay, and water was still spraying on them both.

“If I may,” Zane said, sounding close. Jay made an affirmative noise.

Cole flinched when something brushed against the side of his neck. It started tracing a pattern, drawing something on his skin—oh. The runes.

“Woah,” Jay breathed.

“Wha’ is i’?” Cole mumbled into Jay’s shoulder. He could feel his power responding to the runes, a calming energy leaching through the storm. Another wave had started forming, but it dissolved.

“They’re glowing _black_ ,” Jay answered.

For a long moment Cole tried to figure out how something could glow black. All he ended up managing was confusing himself, so he decided not to think about it.

Eventually, Cole was able to put his power back under the lid. The few runes Zane had painted on both sides of his neck made it easier, almost as if they were holding the lid down for him.

“Are you okay?” Jay asked.

Cole nodded, then forced himself to pull away from him. Blinking, Cole let out a surprised laugh—Jay’s normally frizzy hair was plastered to his forehead, water dripping into his eyes.

“Hey, you’re not much better off,” Jay countered defensively, but he had a crooked smile on his face.

Cole turned to look at Zane. The android was kneeling next to him, paint and paintbrush in hand. Despite the fact that he was also soaked, the short hair on top of his head still stood up straight.

“Thank you,” Cole said to both of them. Even as he did, though, a bubble of sadness welled in his chest, reminding him why had broken down in the first place.

“Of course,” Jay said. “That’s what family does for each other.”

Cole froze. “. . . Family?”

“Duh,” Jay replied, full-out grinning. “Right, Zane?”

They both turned to look at Zane, but he just blinked at them. “Excuse me?”

“You’re part of the family too!” Jay exclaimed.

Zane blinked again. “I . . . am?” 

“You bet you are,” Cole confirmed, chuckling. Warmth was blooming in his chest, so, so wonderfully different from the storm that’d been there minutes earlier.

“Oh.” Zane said.

“Wait a minute,” Cole said, alarm spiking through him. “What about the machine-thing? And _Kai?_ ”

The lights went out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so ages for this fic:  
> Cole is a little over 19  
> Jay is 18  
> Kai is also 18, but older than Jay  
> Nya is just barely 17  
> And Zane doesn't really have an age but he's existed for ~22 years, though he looks more like he's 19 or 20
> 
> So if it wasn't entirely clear, Cole stopped getting taller when he was 17, which is the norm for boys. The extra 2¾ inches he grew (making him 6'2¾", as he'd been 6' before) was a result of one particular set of experiments that only he was put through.


	17. Chapter 17

Nya was sitting at her brother’s bedside again, curled into the surprisingly comfortable chair that Borg had supplied. The inventor himself was outside talking to his medical expert, but Nya wasn’t paying them much attention. Her mind was more or less blank as she watched Kai’s chest rise and fall.

They’d done it. Sure, the procedure had temporarily knocked out all the power to the building, but the most important part was that they’d _done_ it, with seven minutes to spare.

“Miss Smith?”

Nya turned. The medical expert was walking up to her, a tablet held like Nya remembered doctors holding clipboards when she was little. The medical expert was a slim woman on the shorter side, with auburn hair styled in a pixie-cut. Under her white lab coat she was wearing a dark blue sweater and patterned capris, a style that matched her northeastern accent.

“I’m Dr. Halen,” the medical expert introduced herself as she grabbed the chair next to an empty bed, dragging it towards Nya. She glanced at Kai as she sat down, her lips pressed together.

That wasn’t an expression Nya wanted to see.

“What is it?” Nya asked, her voice rising as her chest tightened. “What’s wrong?”

“Possibly nothing,” Dr. Halen said soothingly. “It really just depends on Kai.”

Nya gripped the armrests of the chair. “But—he’s okay, isn’t he? He got the procedure in time, he’s—he’s gonna be fine.” He _had_ to be fine.

Dr. Halen sighed. “Zane’s calculations were accurate, but you need to understand that what he calculated was how much time Kai had before permanent brain damage was _guaranteed_.”

Until it was—oh. “You’re saying—” Nya’s voice cracked. She took a deep breath, gripping the armrests tighter. Her fingers were starting to lose feeling. “You’re saying that he could already have permanent brain damage.”

Dr. Halen nodded.

 _No._ Nya squeezed her eyes shut as they started burning. A sob forced its way up her throat and she pressed a hand to her mouth.

“It’s only a 28% chance, though,” Dr. Halen said softly. “And even if he does, the damage would be minimal—it might not even affect him beyond giving him the occasional migraine.”

That . . . wasn’t too bad. But . . . “What else could happen?”

Dr. Halen sighed. “There’s a lot of things that could happen. The brain is a mystery that, for the most part, is still unsolved. The effects could range to anything from color blindness to increased aggression; it really just depends on how well he heals.”

Nya forced herself to take a deep breath. “When—when will we know if . . .” She couldn’t say it.

“Rather soon, actually.” Dr. Halen looked down at her tablet, tapping something on the screen. “I don’t know if you were aware, but each of you now have a drastically increased healing speed—especially Kai. Even after only thirty minutes he’s displayed _days’_ worth of progress, which means that any damage that’s going to heal will have done so by tomorrow morning. We’ll do some scans before we wake him up,” Dr. Halen hesitated, then continued, “but if any damage does remain, there’s a chance that it could be so minimal that we’ll miss it. Ultimately, we—and by that I mean primarily you—will simply have to keep an eye on him and see if any effects reveal themselves.”

Nya absorbed that, then shifted, looking at her brother. He was so _still_ , lying in the bed with wires attached to his arms and forehead and even more snaking up his t-shirt’s sleeves to attach to his chest. His skin was paler than Nya would have liked, the bronze that had already been dulled by a year of captivity even lighter than before. Most of the runes had been carefully removed, save one on the back of each hand and on both sides of his neck.

“The odds are in his favor,” Dr. Halen said. After a moment she stood, straightening her coat. “I’ll be back to check on him in thirty minutes.” With that, she left.

Nya sucked in a shuddering breath, scrubbing the tears from her eyes. Kai would be okay. There was only a 28% percent chance that he had brain damage—which was still more than one in four—but _wasn’t_ very high. And even if he did, he might just go colorblind. He’d _hate_ that, he’d complain with no end . . .

Kai was going to be okay. He _had_ to be okay. Tomorrow he was going to wake up and be back to his hot-headed, doofus self, and would probably whine his head off if the doctor decided he should stay on bedrest or something.

He was going to be okay.

Right?

*****

Zane’s breathing system hitched as a fresh burst of pain flared through him from his side. He stumbled, barely catching himself on the corner of his desk to keep himself from collapsing completely. The contact with the wood made more pain spike through his hand, which caused his vocal system to produce a strangled, high-pitched noise.

His legs weakened and he dropped to the ground, his vision going black as pain overwhelmed him. He sagged against the wall, but the contact made everything hurt _worse_ —

Something sparked in his chest and alarms started chiming in his head—

Zane shut down.

*****

When Zane came back online, he was no longer integrated into his mechanical body. It was momentarily disorienting, the lack of input—the lack of senses and feelings. Zane was once again in a non-dimensional form, merely a large bundle of code inside of a machine’s processor.

A quick check proved that Zane was still inside the mechanical body, which had come back online but was in a sort of stand-by mode, most of the input sensors inactive. Zane accessed the mechanical body’s software, expertly manipulating the code to locate the mechanism’s diagnostic systems. A self-diagnostic had been run upon startup, the machine’s software attempting to determine what had caused the shut-down.

The answer wasn’t a surprise: the processing systems had been overloaded by input, causing one of the secondary systems to glitch and trip the emergency shut-down. There was still a large quantity of input that the mechanism’s software was processing, but the stand-by mode had deactivated any sensors that weren’t necessary, including the majority of the damaged surface sensors.

Zane debated his next course of action. If he reintegrated himself into the machine, there was a high probability—almost a certainty—that he would once again be overwhelmed by pain and shut down a second time, his self-defensive programming once again de-integrating him. Logic dictated that such a course of action was inadvisable until that eventuality was removed—until the damaged sensors were repaired. However, Zane knew that Cyrus Borg—as intelligent as the inventor was—had neither the technology nor the knowledge required to fix the damage, nor did he have any time or attention to spare. The next option, then, would have been for Zane to return to the internet, but the mechanical body didn’t possess the ability to connect to a network, and that wouldn’t change for the same reasons that the first option wouldn’t work.

The third option was the only course of action remaining: to delete his code, allowing Cyrus Borg to dismantle and gain beneficial knowledge from the mechanism he was currently in without ethical opposition.

Zane started preparing the necessary code.

Then, he stopped.

For a long moment, he didn’t understand why. He started constructing an analysis, but then the answer presented itself to him of its own accord.

He didn’t _want_ to delete himself. He . . . he _wanted_ . . . _more_. To learn more. To experience more. To _feel_ more. To taste more food combinations, to help the teenagers with their powers, to smile again.

He wanted to _live_.

But, he couldn’t. Not only was the machine that was necessary for him to do so damaged beyond repair, but Zane was an AI. Artificial. To want something for himself when doing so would prevent humans from having information that could save lives was—he searched his dictionary—selfish, as well as highly unethical. Even a single human life was infinitely more valuable than his artificial existence.

Zane continued preparing the code. 

Seconds—seconds that seemed quite a lot longer, now that he was digital again—later, it was ready.

Zane started to activate it, then hesitated halfway through, freezing the code.

He didn’t _want_ to . . .

He _had_ to. He didn’t have a valid reason not to.

But . . .

Zane recalled his memories—selfish, he was being _selfish_ —of the last few days, attempting to re-experience it all. Walking through a forest. Wandering through the city. Actually _interacting_ with humans. Helping retrieve the teenagers, then spending time with them—air hockey, watching them play cards, _eating_. Researching so he could help them, and coming to their aid when they needed it—

_“You’re part of the family too!” Jay Walker exclaimed, smiling._

_Zane blinked, surprised. What line of reasoning had led the teenager to that conclusion?_

_“I am?” he asked. Maybe the teenager had misspoken. Family was a human construct, and an emotional one—and he wasn’t human. Except, both of the teenagers in front of him knew that._

_“You bet you are,” Cole Brookstone confirmed, laughing slightly. He was smiling at Zane, albeit less than Jay Walker, but that was to be expected, as the outburst of his power had probably taken most of his energy._

_Zane processed. He still didn’t understand—_

_“Oh.”_

_They had gotten emotionally attached to him._

Zane _couldn’t_ delete himself, he realized with a start. Doing so would cause Cole Brookstone and Jay Walker emotional pain, and that—that was unethical, enough so that it validated Zane’s want to stay.

He could _stay_. He just had to make sure that he continued being useful.

Except, there was still the problem that his mechanical body was still badly damaged.

Zane accessed the machine’s code, scrutinizing every aspect of the design (both hardware and software). It was all incredibly complex, but all that meant was that there _had_ to be a way to circumvent the issues. Probability demanded it.

And he found it. Before, he’d been implementing code of his own design in an attempt to suppress the pain, and that had been the error. 

Instead, he could manipulate the machine’s coding itself.

Zane worked through the programs, manually deactivating each and every damaged sensor. Now, even once he switched the machine out of stand-by mode, no damaged inputs would be relayed to him—there wouldn’t even be any damaged inputs created in the first place.

No more pain.

Satisfied, Zane reintegrated himself into the mechanical body.

*****

Jay was sitting on one of the couches in the common area, feet up on the edge of the coffee table. Cole was on the couch across from him, snacking from a tray full of various foods balanced on his lap. Apparently, the pills the doctor-person had given him worked great, giving his metabolism something to burn through that _wasn’t_ his own organs. He’d started feeling nauseous after his power outburst, though—Jay had noticed when his face had started turning slightly green on the elevator ride—and Jay knew better than anyone that running on an empty stomach was most likely the cause (he used to forget to eat all of the time when he was hyperfocused on projects). Thus, he’d convinced Cole that he needed to eat something, and Cole had assembled his usual hodgepodge variety of foods—thankfully sans BBQ sauce.

Jay started fidgeting with the cuff of his jacket. This jacket was slightly smaller than the one he’d been wearing before, but Jay supposed it didn’t really make a difference. He was just grateful they’d had dry clothes to change into.

After Jay-wasn’t-sure-exactly-how-much-longer of sitting there, he let out a groan. “I’m bored,” he announced.

Cole looked up at him. “You’ve only been sitting there for like, five minutes,” he said, amusement tinting his voice.

“Which is an absolute eternity,” Jay retorted. He pushed himself to his feet, and for lack of something better to do, started walking in circles around the couches.

“You could go play video games or something,” Cole suggested.

Jay quickly shook his head. He didn’t know if it was the runes’ influence or simply luck that his hands hadn’t started shaking while he’d been helping assemble the power-stabilizing machine, but he didn’t want to push it. He could already feel the runes starting to wear off, the almost imperceptible hum of the lightning under his skin starting to return to its usual uncomfortable buzz. Jay peeked at Cole—his runes were still visible on the sides of his neck, glowing black. Jay hadn’t thought that black _could_ glow, but somehow, the runes were giving off a visible aura of . . . blackness. It was in the shape of light, though, not shadows.

“Or not,” Cole amended.

Jay rounded the couches again—and came to a stop as his gaze landed on Zane’s door. 

“Shouldn’t Zane be done by now?” he asked. Borg had sent all three of them up to change into dry clothes once the power had come back on, as there wasn’t anything they could do for Kai except for stay out of the way as the doctor-person brought him back up to the infirmary. The procedure had been a success, apparently, which Jay was glad about—but he couldn’t help but feel like there was something they hadn’t told them.

And skipping to what he was currently concerned about—why was he _always_ so scatterbrained—Zane had gone into his bedroom almost twenty minutes ago. That was _more_ than enough time to dry off and change, as evidenced by both Cole and Jay himself. So why hadn’t he come out?

Maybe he was reading again?

“Cole, Jay,” Borg called, cutting off Cole’s chance to respond to Jay’s question. Jay turned as the inventor wheeled over to them. Behind him, Jay could see the doctor-person going into the infirmary, her conversation with Borg over.

“Yeah?” Cole asked, moving the tray off his lap. He brushed his hands off as he stood.

Borg gave them an exhausted smile. “I know it’s been a busy day, but I’d like to try to have both of you go through the procedure. The longer it is put off the more danger there is of you getting injured as Kai was.”

“Won’t the power go out again?” Cole asked.

Borg shook his head. “The cause for that was an old failsafe for the original wiring this building had before we updated it—I hadn’t realized it was still connected. Some of my people are working on removing it right now. They should be done in a few minutes.”

“And it’s safe?” Jay asked. He felt a bit silly asking, but . . . he needed to know.

“Of course,” Borg said. “It’s not exactly pain-free, though, which is why I’d recommend that you allow yourselves to be temporarily sedated.”

“How long would we be out?” Cole asked, frowning. 

Borg straightened his glasses. “An hour at most. The procedure itself barely takes two minutes, as you’d probably noticed, so the rest of that time would just be waiting for the sedative to wear off. Although, in the future, I’m afraid that some of the procedures will be multiple-hour ordeals.”

Okay, that made sense. Something was still bugging Jay, though.

Jay glanced at Nya—and felt a spike of alarm when he saw that she looked like she was trying not to cry. The doctor-person was sitting next to her, occasionally glancing at Kai.

Right, _that’s_ what it was.

“What’s wrong with Kai?” Jay asked.

Borg sighed. “I’m afraid that despite completing the procedure before we ran out of time, there’s a small chance that Kai may have permanent brain damage.”

Oh. That . . . wasn’t good. “Is he going to be okay?” Jay asked anxiously, his voice jumping higher than he meant it to.

“Most likely, but only time can tell. However, I’d _strongly_ recommend that both of you go through the procedure before you start getting injured by your powers as well.”

“Have Cole go first,” Jay said. Then he blinked. Why had he . . . ?

Cole looked at him quizzically. “Why me? Not that I’m against it or anything, but still.”

Jay scrambled to find his reasoning, then stumbled across it. “Because you’ve had more outbursts,” he explained. “That means that you’re at more risk.”

“He’s correct,” Borg confirmed.

Something flashed across Cole’s face—fear?—but he quickly composed himself. “Guess I’m going first, then.”

Something occurred to Jay. “What about Nya?”

“Nya is the most stable of all of you—granted, her power is still unstable, but she hasn’t had any outbursts yet, nor has she required any runes, and right now I think it is better for her emotionally if she stays with her brother.” Borg glanced back at the siblings. Jay noted that the doctor-person was leaving the infirmary. “She’ll have the procedure tomorrow, after Kai is awake.”

The doctor-person was walking up to them. “So, are we performing the procedures?” she asked.

Jay blinked. “We have the option not to?”

The corner of Borg’s mouth quirked up. “Of course. Remember, we’re not going to do anything to you without your consent.”

“But Kai was unconscious before his procedure,” Cole pointed out.

“Miss Smith gave her consent for him, being his sister,” the doctor-person explained.

“Yes, and we are fortunate that she is,” Borg said. “I don’t know what I would have done if she couldn’t have given that consent.”

Jay winced. In that situation, Borg would have either had to keep his word and let Kai get massive brain damage—and possibly even die—or break his word and violate Kai’s free will by technically forcing him through a procedure that would save him. Neither were pretty options.

“May I suggest that we get going?” the doctor-person said politely.

“Get going?”

Jay started, whipping around. Zane was standing right behind him, now in dry clothes and tilting his head slightly.

“Cole and Jay are going to go through the procedure,” Borg explained for him. “Assuming they give their consent.”

“I, uh, I give mine,” Cole said.

“Me too,” Jay quickly added. Instantly anxiety gripped his chest, but he forced himself to ignore it. A single spark flickered between his fingers, the lightning still being partially dampened by the runes.

“Is there some way that I can assist?” Zane asked.

Borg looked to the doctor-person, who nodded. “Come with me, all of you.”

As the doctor-person started leading them towards the elevator, Jay's mind got stuck on a loop wondering about one specific thing: _how_ had he known that additional outbursts put them more at risk? He hadn't even considered that they were related, though in hindsight it was fairly obvious.

Jay shook his head as he stepped into the elevator. He'd probably heard Zane or Borg mention it at some point and wasn't remembering. After all, how else could he have known?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> —Oop I made myself cry
> 
> Just in case anyone who hasn't already seen it on the list already might be interested, I started writing/posting a new Ninjago fic. It's called Into the Dark, and it's centered around Lloyd (and secondarily Kai). Any description I give (+ the tags) somehow make it seem a lot darker than it actually is/is going to be, but to kind of sum up the idea it focuses on what could have happened if some of the Great Devour's venom was passed onto Lloyd; how it starts affecting him and drawing out his Oni side once he falls under its influence. So far what I've written is mostly fluff, but it'll get pretty angsty later on (and of course it'll have a happy ending, I don't write stories without them). In terms of how dark/mature it's actually going to be, as it deals with subjects like addiction and (past) alcohol abuse, it's pretty similar to this fic (well, so far it's actually lighter, but there's only five chapters). Lloyd's struggles will be depicted in a similar method as how to I depict the team's superpowers here in this story, though as more of a bad thing, of course. Anyways, thought I'd stick this here because why not.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long space between updates, life has been crazy and this chapter was an absolute _nightmare_ to write. Hopefully it's good.

There was a sharp yelp, loud enough to cut through Cole’s music. Startled, Cole looked up—and discovered that Jay was sitting on Kai’s chest, trying to grab the comic book that Kai was just barely keeping out of reach. Jay was saying something, his cheeks red, and Kai looked like he had been laughing before Jay had tackled him to the floor. He was still smirking, though, succeeding at keeping the comic book far enough away that Jay wasn’t able to reach it without getting off of him.

Cole sighed in irritation, carefully closing his sketchbook and hooking the mechanical pencil he’d been using onto the spiraled spine. He watched Jay and Kai for a moment longer before he pulled his headphones off his ears.

“—it _back!_ ” Jay demanded, swiping for the comic book again. Kai quickly pulled it back out of reach.

“Too slow, shorty,” Kai taunted.

Jay growled. Lightning was sparking up his forearms, but he didn’t seem to notice any more than Kai did (Kai had gotten used to being shocked by him at this point).

“Would you stop being such a _jerk?_ ” Jay snapped, glaring down at him.

Kai smirked. “Nope.”

“Kai, c’mon,” Cole said. He’d meant to say it warningly, but it came out sounding more like he was an exhausted parent.

“What?” Kai asked innocently. “I’m just having some fun.”

“Fun?” Jay sputtered. The lightning increased, streaking across his shoulders and up and down his torso. “ _Fun?!_ ”

Cole’s temper flared. Normally, he had one of the longest fuses of anyone he’d ever known, but over the last few days Kai had been consistently trimming it down. “ _Kai!_ ” Cole snapped. “Would you just _leave him alone?_ Or even better, leave all of us alone!”

An expression Cole couldn’t read crossed Kai’s face. “Why should I?”

“Because you’re a stupid _jerk_ ,” Jay seethed. He snatched for the comic again, but Kai kept it out of reach. “Honestly, how does Nya even _stand_ you?”

Kai’s face darkened. “Well then, if you hate me so much,” he chucked the comic across the common area, “go get it.”

Jay scrambled after the comic book. Kai climbed to his feet, not looking at either of them as he stalked to his bedroom.

Kai’s words finally registered in Cole’s mind as Kai slammed his door, and Cole winced. They didn’t _hate_ him. True, they didn’t exactly _like_ him, either, but that was entirely his own fault—he’d been nothing but an insufferable jerk since waking up from the procedure four days ago. Cole had initially thought that maybe he _had_ gotten brain damage—after all, he’d seemed pretty cool during that one day they’d spent playing cards together—but the doctor kept saying that everything looked fine, and Nya grimly backed that up with the information that Kai had always been a mistrustful hothead. Apparently, he always acted this way with people he didn’t trust—snarky and attacking—albeit a bit less, but being cooped up with them probably wasn’t helping anything. Nya helped hold him back, but Kai had just been getting worse as time went on, even getting snappy with her—and just last night the siblings had had a full-on shouting match.

Jay had retrieved his comic book, and now he held it to his chest like it was something precious as he fled to the gaming room (which was what they’d dubbed the lounge). Cole watched as he locked himself in, disappearing behind the couch.

Cole sighed, slipping his headphones back on. Hopefully Kai would stay in his room for a while.

*****

Kai flopped onto his bed, screaming into his pillow at half volume. He was _angry_ again, the one thing that was bothering him inflating into rage for no reasonable reason whatsoever. It just _happened_ , building in his chest like pressure in a . . . thingy. Whatever those pot-things were called. Either way, he _hated_ it—it made him run hot, too, his power flaring in his veins in sync with the anger. But all Kai could do was try to distract himself from it until he cooled off. Unfortunately, “distract himself” combined with the anger didn’t really work well—he just took it out on the others, which he hated himself for. He couldn’t really _stop_ himself though—anger made his self-control go out the window, just as it always had. The fact that he couldn’t control the anger at all now _didn’t_ help.

He’d definitely deserved what Jay had called him—a stupid jerk. Because Kai _was_ —both a massive jerk and a stupid, brain-damaged idiot.

Kai forced himself to take a deep breath. Made himself hold it. Counted to fifteen before letting it out—it helped a little, but not much. He was still angry, still running hot.

Kai rolled over, yanking open the nightstand drawer and feeling around until he found the . . . the temperature-measuring thingy. He swiped it across his forehead, then waited for the _beep_ to look at the result. One hundred forty . . . six? Or nine. Six.

Kai chucked the thingy across the room and buried his face in his pillow.

Why was it always _him?_ Sure, the others had a few issues, but they were more or less _fine_. But he—he kept getting angry, and that made him keep running hot, _every single day_ , and he _couldn’t control it_. 

He’d even _fought with Nya_.

Tears stung Kai’s eyes. He furiously blinked them away—he was _not_ going to cry. Crying never solved anything. What he needed right now was to cool off—he had to be at a normal temperature before Zane got back from helping Borg, had to regain at least some control over his temper. Had to pretend that he was fine, that he was intending to be a jerk. That he actually had some sort of control over himself.

No way could he ever let them know that he was _damaged_.

There was a soft sort of hissing sound. Kai looked up, startled, and found that a paper—folded in half—had been slid under his door.

Kai’s chest seized. Someone was trying to tell him something, and he—he—

Kai let out a soft string of curses as he forced himself off of the bed. He stared at the paper for a long moment before he picked it up, sitting down cross-legged and leaning against the door.

Kai couldn’t breathe. At least, it felt that way, the dread in his stomach outweighing the anger and wrapping around his lungs.

Maybe he could just put it away. Hide it somewhere, pretend he hadn’t seen it—no, that wouldn’t work. It’d been slid under the door; it was impossible to miss. He had to, or else—or else they’d know.

Slowly, Kai unfolded the paper. It looked like a letter of some sort, hand-written. It had his name at the top. Nya’s was at the bottom, which meant that the letter said either very good things or very bad things. Probably both, knowing Nya.

Kai bit his lip, then started reading.

Well, “reading”.

The first two words were small enough for him to recognize. But after that, he couldn’t understand it. He recognized individual letters, but put together they didn’t make any _sense_. It was just gibberish. Sometimes he could figure out words, but then when he’d look back at it again it’d be a different one—“saw” turned into “was”, etc—and sometimes when he thought he had the word he couldn’t tell what the word _meant_. 

Kai forced himself through the first sentence, but by the end he didn’t have the slightest idea about what he’d just tried to read.

Kai yanked the paper apart, tearing it down the center. He chucked the pieces away from him before he buried his face in his hands. His head was throbbing, shame forcing its way up his throat as tears stung his eyes.

Maybe what was in the letter didn’t really matter. After all, he was a stupid, brain-damaged idiot who couldn’t even _read_.

Why would anyone want anything to do with him?

It was better to push them all away before they found out.

*****

Jay smirked as he played a +4 card. 

“Seriously? Again?” Cole groaned, holding his Uno cards close to his chest.

“Again,” Nya said sweetly. Jay grinned. It was honestly impressive how she managed to sound perfectly genuine but very clearly mean the opposite at the same time.

“Are you _sure_ that you’re not ganging up on me?” Cole asked suspiciously, drawing the required cards.

Jay muffled a laugh. They _totally_ were. “We reserve the right to remain silent,” he proclaimed.

“Uno!” Nya said brightly as she took her turn. Cole glared at her. Nya wiggled her eyebrows at him teasingly, taking a drink from her water bottle.

“Hey, I thought it was _my_ turn to win!” Jay jokingly protested.

Nya winked at him. “Ladies first.”

“You _just_ won!” Cole exclaimed.

“But I still need this win to beat your six,” Nya said.

Cole gaped. “Hey!”

“Hay is for horses,” Jay said automatically. Cole glared at him as Nya giggled.

“You _are_ ganging up on me!” Cole decided.

Jay snorted. “Of _course_ we are. You won six times in a row!”

“But now you two have won eleven times,” Cole said.

“We still haven’t pounded you into the dirt yet, Brookstone,” Nya countered, her eyes dancing.

Cole sputtered. “ _Hey!_ ”

“Is for horses,” Jay added.

“Would you _stop_ that—” Cole cut himself off as Nya straightened, her attention snapping to something behind him. Jay followed her gaze.

Kai had emerged from his bedroom.

Jay stared at him for a long moment. Kai scanned the room lazily, his hands in the pockets of the bright red jacket he’d been wearing nonstop since the procedure. When his eyes landed on Jay, Jay forced himself not to flinch—thankfully, Kai looked away quickly.

Cole had had to twist somewhat awkwardly to see Kai—he was sitting on the armchair that faced away from the bedrooms, while Jay and Nya were on the ends of each couch next to him—and when Jay glanced at him he could practically see the gears turning in his head. Jay knew that his opinion of Kai had been sinking lower and lower as the days went on, which was understandable. As for Jay himself, though—well, Jay was somewhat frightened of him. He was Kai’s favorite target whenever Kai lost his temper or got bored.

However, Jay hadn’t been very good at holding it against him, not like Cole was. He didn’t know exactly why—he just had the feeling that there was something else going on with Kai, something that the rest of them didn’t know about. That there was a _reason_ behind Kai’s actions. Of course, it could very well just be Mom’s words coming back to him—Mom had always said that bullies hurt other people because they were hurting too, not that that had helped any with the people who had tormented him when he was in school.

Still, something was off.

Nya took a deep breath. “So?” she asked, trying to disguise the hope in her voice.

Jay blinked, then remembered that Nya had written Kai a note of some sort—their first communication since their fight last night.

Kai stared at her. “So what?”

Nya reared back a little. “The note . . . ?”

Kai shrugged. “I couldn’t read it.”

“ _You didn’t read_ —” Nya exclaimed. “What? _Why?_ ”

Jay frowned. Hang on—hadn’t Kai just said that he _couldn’t_ read it, not that he didn’t?

“Why didn’t you read it?” Cole asked.

Maybe Jay had heard wrong.

Kai shrugged again. “Didn’t wanna.”

Nya's expression crumpled, but pain quickly turned to anger. "If that's the way you want to do it, then," she spat.

Kai flinched. It wasn’t obvious, but it was definitely there. “Nya . . .”

Nya shook her head as she shoved herself to her feet. An instant later she was slamming her bedroom door behind her.

Kai swore under his breath. He stared at Nya’s door for a moment before he stalked to the kitchen.

“That went well,” Cole muttered. He stood, leaving his cards on the arm of the chair. “Want to play video games with me?”

Jay almost accepted, but then he stopped himself. He’d already been using his hands a lot. “No thanks,” he said instead. His stomach decided to growl just then, so he added. “I think I’ll get something to eat.”

Cole glanced at the kitchen—which Kai was currently occupying—and looked back at Jay incredulously. “Are you sure?”

Oh. Right. Jay’s self-preservation instincts were telling him to stay as far away from Kai as possible—but he _was_ hungry, and . . . for some reason, he didn’t think that Kai was in the mood to mess with him again.

“Yep,” Jay said as brightly as he could manage.

Cole glanced at the kitchen again. “You’re _sure?_ ”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jay said, folding his arms. “I can handle Kai,” he insisted, ignoring the lightning that was sparking around his fingers.

“If you say so,” Cole said. He hesitated for just a moment longer before he went to the gaming room.

Jay stood, taking a deep breath before he made his way to the kitchen.

Kai was drinking straight out of the milk carton— _ew_ —when Jay got there, standing in front of the open fridge. Jay just stood there for a moment, not knowing what to do.

Kai finished drinking, screwing the cap back on the milk and swiping at his mouth with the back of one hand. “What?” he grunted.

“Uh—could you, uh, grab me a white cheddar babybel?” Jay stammered. Wow, he was _amazing_ at this.

Kai blinked at him. “That’s those little cheese things, right?”

Jay nodded, pointedly ignoring his common sense screaming at him in the back of his mind. So far, so good.

Kai put the milk back in the fridge—Jay made a mental note not to use it—and started digging through the drawer that the cheeses were in. He pulled out several flavors of the little wheels, then stared at all of them for a _really_ long time. Like, long enough that Jay started wondering if he’d zoned out.

Then Kai shook his head slightly. “Here,” he said, tossing a cheese wheel at Jay. Jay barely caught it, and for a moment he thought that Kai had given him the wrong flavor—it definitely wouldn’t be out of character—but to his mild surprise, it was a white cheddar one. He stared at it for a moment longer than was probably warranted.

“If it’s the wrong flavor, just deal with it,” Kai snapped.

Jay looked up at him. “It’s the right one,” he reassured him automatically.

Kai blinked, then ducked his head. “Good,” he muttered, dumping the rest of the cheeses back in the drawer. He slammed both the drawer and the fridge door shut, then stormed out of the kitchen, back towards his bedroom.

Jay stared after him, his mind whirring. Had Kai . . . _not_ known which flavor he’d given him? But he’d looked at each of them for a long time, more than long enough to read the labels—

Wait a minute.

_“I couldn’t read it.”_

Was—was Kai having trouble reading?

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I love comments/questions <3  
> Also please let me know if there's anything that's not clear


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